Final Fantasy 8: Year of Fire  Opening Moves
by Spiritblade
Summary: [AU] What if defeating Ultimecia brought into place a future she had intended to prevent all along? This story details the rise of the Galbadian Empire, from its beginnings to the final moments of its ascension. Book 1, Part 1 Complete
1. Disclaimer

_**Final Fantasy 8 Novel**_

_**Year Of Fire**_

_**Written by Spiritblade and Wesley T.**_

_**Disclaimer: **_Final Fantasy 8 does not belong to me, period. Nor does the dozen of crossovers I have put into place to make this story click. This story is influenced heavily by the games Legend of Dragoon and Baldur's Gate as well as Warhammer 40K. This work is as of yet, incomplete, and I am posting this to ensure that I do not lose the story the next time my PC crashes. I will do a better cover page as soon as possible.

This work, done over half a decade ago, before the Angel Halo Project was launched, was my chief key project. Thank you, Wesley T., for being there. We will finish this story. But first we will finish the Angel Halo project.

_**'The line between hero and monster is but the slenderest line, and it does not take much to turn a hero into what he hates the most.'**_

-- Kouryuo Sabre --


	2. Prologue

_**Book 1 – Opening Moves**_

_**Prologues – When the circle turns…**_

The wheel turns. It always does. When the next second passes, when the sun sets, when the days turn to months that eventually become years, the Wheel of Time turns ever onwards. And yet, as it turns, it bears witness to events, both great and small, and this may alter the course of the river. That river is destiny, and we all believe that to alter its course is impossible. It is akin to kicking a mountain and causing it to crumble. But, is it that difficult? Make a choice – the smallest one, and that mountain **will** crumble. The river's flow can change. In one of two ways, the events leading to such can be slow, or momentous.

This world, the world of Terra, had seen many such events. The Goddess Hyne had decreed that there would be 12 Ages in all, like a clock, that the world shall see before it returns to oblivion. Though the world had yet to see the long-prophesied Age of Sorrow, the world had been rent asunder countless times by war and death. From the dark days of the Age of Chaos eleven thousand years ago till the present, war and death are unchanging. It is from the Age of Chaos that a curse spat upon the Goddess in defiance would bring in the promised Age of Darkness – the Fifth Age. Many, however, claim that Terra had already entered it long ago. The one who spat the curse was a Daemon Prince, one of the Seven Rulers of the Abyssal Realms. His name was Bhaal, Lord of Murder, and for time uncounted, he and his brothers and sisters in Darkness have held sway over the Abyss and Hell. The Six Daemon Princes fought their wars against their adversaries, the Angel Lords of Heaven, as well as each other, for time immemorial, sacrificing countless mortals in their power struggles until the Goddess had had enough. She issued a warning that was not heeded and the Pentalos –the five solar princesses who served the Goddess – struck them all down from the celestial plane.

Bhaal had foreseen this exile long before Hyne even saw it, and had entered the world before that cataclysmic event. For he knew that, in this event, he would not live to re-ascend back to his throne. To cheat oblivion, Bhaal sired scores of mortal progeny as fuel for his rebirth. Although his scheme was perfect, Bhaal could not have known about the Century of Fire that would erupt years after the Age of Chaos ended and scattered his bastard offspring. Even as his most loyal cultists hunted and slew their dead patron's offspring – along with any they might have had – in order to restore their master, the Children of Bhaal had spread far and wide across the face of Terra. To hunt them and their offspring down was close to impossible, and yet, they did not surrender their mission. Their greatest triumph, however, was to deceive the secret Order of the Knights of the Temple – a Holy Order of the Church of Hyne – that the extermination of the Bhaalspawn would avert the Apocalypse in the future. The zealous fury of their brutal Inquisition has yet to abate even in the modern era.

As each generation passed over the centuries, the essence in each of the Daemon Prince's bastard children weakened, making the task of hunting them down increasingly more difficult. It should have been such with my case. Yes, I am a Child of Bhaal, a Descendant of the Angel of Sacrifice. Like the rest of my long-removed siblings, the curse inherent in my blood should have diluted with the passing of millenia. To make a long story short, I am of the 3rd Generation, and my bloodline has spanned over eleven thousand years from the fabled Age of Chaos to the present. No, I have not lived for eleven thousand years. But, my grandfather, Zieg Spiritblade, did.

My grandfather was a hero – once – during and before the Century of Fire. It was the other name given for the period that encompassed the Sacrifice War and the Dragon Campaign. Before the latter had erupted and he had donned the armour of a Dragoon, he had been but a common Holy Knight in the Order of the Sacred Flame. Events propelled him into a storm made him confront his half-brother to end a deception before a war erupted that would cost thousands of innocent lives. Events that would lead him into the fire of a revolution that would see to an end of the winglies' – the winged elves – thousand-year reign over much of the world. In the bloody war that would become the Dragon Campaign, the name Zieg Spiritblade would become the favourite bedtime stories for children for ten thousand years. His mightiest victory, at the culmination of the Dragon Campaign, would be his defeat. It was a victory won at the most terrible of sacrifices. Clad in the armour of the Dragoons, he and his compatriots fought against Melbu Frahma, the Archangel of the Darkening Sun. At the end of that apocalyptic battle that would shatter one of the Winglies's mightiest fortress-cathedral of Summer's Tide in the mountains of Ekyolan-Falaria, only one Dragoon would emerge from that battle. A woman, cursed with immortality, would stride forth from that shattered fortress, with a quest to deny the Fallen Solar a foothold in the mortal plane. To do so, she must slay the Silver Children who possessed within them the ability to break the chains that bound the fallen angel. Bearing the burden of her grim task with stoic resignation, she set about becoming the Black Monster of legend. It is _so_ _very _easy to condemn innocents to death, with the simple excuse that it is for the greater good but to the eyes of the surviving Dragoon; there was no joy in her killing innocent children to prevent another Century of Fire. But, to ensure that her friends and the one she loved had not died in vain, the Black Monster pursued her endless quest over the lonely centuries that became lonelier millenias. And her heart froze.

As the millenias passed, she could not have foreseen that my grandfather would finally be released from his curse. It would be a bitter irony to say that the evil he fought never truly died, but in vindictive vengeance, Melbu Frahma inserted the seed that would force father to fight son. The corruption had been slow, but much to the Fallen Solar's glee, he saw it happening. When he gazed upon the world upon his awakening, Zieg had hoped that the sacrifices made by so many had not been for nothing. That hope slowly died away when he gazed upon how much the world changed, and the scars of wars that had raged during his slumber had made the devastation of the Century of Fire pale in comparison.

Doubt became bitterness, and that bitterness finally gave way to anger. He left his young son and his wife behind, believing he could right the wrongs as his Order once did. Perhaps pride may have been his downfall, but who can tell? If one gazes upon a dream that one gave up so much for, and saw that it had been for nothing, the bitterness will always remain.

The result of that bitterness had been the 2nd Dragon Campaign, as Zieg set out to punish a world that he had saved so many centuries before. It was a war that was the re-enactment of the Century of Fire eleven thousand years ago. Combining his formidable powers with the Archangel of the Darkening Sun's, it was an easy affair to manipulate the current Ishtarian Emperor of that era, as well as erect Black Cathedrals that the Fallen Solar and his lieutenants could summon their daemonic troops. It dragged four nations into the war, over a dozen Gardens, and countless mercenary formations. Not even the neutral country of the Andosian Federation had been spared the conflict as their northern provinces became battlegrounds. The war culminated in a second confrontation at the very same place where the 1st Dragon Campaign had ended – right in the heart of the ruined fortress-monastery of Summer's Tide.

My father – Dart Spiritblade – knew by then that there was _nothing _left of the man – my grandfather – who had once been his hero. He was the twisted, blackened image of his former nobility. To claim victory, the price to pay had been just as bitter as the time when Zieg Spiritblade had paid to end the 1st Dragon Campaign. My father _murdered_ his childhood sweetheart, a woman who would have made as fine a mother as the beautiful dark angel that sang my little brother and I to sleep, before my grandfather could have completed the ritual to damn her to a fate far worse that death. It was in this act that my father abandoned all hope of ever releasing my grandfather from the grasp of the Fallen Solar. The latter had fallen too far to be saved.

Or, was the son no different from his father? My brother and I knew – later on – that, perhaps, we were no different. The division between good and evil was a slender one. By the time one had stepped over that line, one had already passed beyond caring.

In his quest to defeat the Archangel of the Darkening Sun, Dart began to learn about what he is. The knowledge was horrifying, to say the least, but the enemy that told him this had little reason to lie. After all, the demigod Divine Dragon had been at the Century of Fire, fighting the original Dragoons. He got away that time, but this time, he wasn't so lucky. But, with Divine Dragon's revelation, questions began to emerge. Bhaal had foreseen his death; that much was for certain. But, exactly _how far_ into the future did he see was the question.

Divine Dragon told my father that the blood of evil ran deep in my father's veins before he embraced Final Death. The stigma of the Angel of Murder was stronger in my family than any other and time would not weaken its potence – how else could they slay one such as he? When the time comes, the events of the Century of Fire eleven thousand years ago will come to its culmination in this present era, and the Children of Bhaal would be at the eye of the storm. The Throne of Bhaal had remained empty for eleven millenia. It will not be so for long. Fate had been cruel once – why not again?

My younger brother and I, were born three years after the end of the apocalyptic battle with our grandfather that denied Ishtar its dreams of empire. Those had been happier days. Strange it was that my parents never used the stories of the Bhaalspawn to cower us into obedience like so many parents. I've heard the stories before, and it had been none too pleasant. The reason why our parents did not tell us such stories became evident later on. If my mother knew the truth, she did not care. Her image is burned deep into the framework of my mind. Her dark eyes and her long obsidian hair, and her ruby lips curving up into that familiar gentle, sarcastic smile, or becoming a straight line whenever she became angry with us. What was her name again?

Ah, yes.

She had been named after a flower. Her name had been Rose. Yes, that was it. Rose Spiritblade. She never had a second name, and when she married our father and brought us into the world, she took ours. Yes, she was the Black Monster my father went hunting down for destroying his home. She was the only surviving Dragoon at the end of the 1st Dragon Campaign. She was the woman who fought by his side against a tide of enemies. She had been the one who betrayed him near the very end and she was the one who had saved his life during that final battle when the line between victory and defeat had been but a slender moment of decision.

She had been the woman our grandfather loved and wanted to marry but who, in the end, chose my father. She had lived with the loss of one she had loved for eleven thousand years, and the pain had been excruciating. If it were to happen a second time, she doubted she could handle the agony.

The memories I have of my younger days were good ones. Going to school, enjoying the town fairs, reading and learning under the tutelage of my mother who had knowledge gathered over eleven millenia. It was a _normal_ life. How strange and bitter it is when it is finally taken from you and you learn to appreciate it. But, as I learnt later on, Fate is one cruel bitch. She never lets you off for long. It would be Christmas when those good memories would come to an end. And like the image of my parents scoured deep into my soul, so, too, would these events.

My brother was six and I was seven during that fateful moment that would change everything. On that snowy, night of September 4037, it would be the last time I would ever see my parents again. The memory of that night was gouged deep into the framework of my mind. Imagine the night-sky outside your home and the snows upon the windowsill. Imagine the moon and the skies that cover the skies above. The warm feeling as you watched your parents from the shadows as they spoke. You dream about good things – never the bad ones.

My brother and I always remembered our parents smiling or laughing; they rarely, if ever, argued. This night, unlike those happy nights, was different. My mother was a hard woman, difficult to move or anger, but this night saw to her more furious than I would ever remember her to be. My father, likewise, was just as angry. I still remember my mother's voice, cold and sharp, like a Death Angel pronouncing a death sentence as she addressed my father, "And how do you suppose we could get Zieg and Shateiel out, Dart? Have you even considered that? They are all we have and all we have lived for. I have failed once; I cannot bear to bear the burden of another failure of that scale! I WILL not! I will no more surrender you nor our children to anyone!"

"Nor will I. As to how they will get out of here, I have already seen to that as you have refused my other proposal. I have called some of our old friends who owe us a life and a limb to take them to safety. The Knights of the Temple are persistent in their hunt for the Bhaalspawn – they don't care who the ones they kill are. We may have saved hundreds of thousands of lives, Rose, but to them, it does not matter."

"I had always dreamt, Dart, that this dream would last. I've paid dearly for all those long millenias, and I have suffered. But…no, that is the past. When will they come?"

"Tonight. As for their identi-" and my father trailed off as he sensed me and my brother spying on him from the shadows of the upper stairway. His eyes became sad, the anger in them dissolving, before being filled with determination. It had frightened my brother and I at that time. I had called out, asking what was wrong and why they were so unhappy. My mother gazed up at us and turned away, not wanting us to see her face. But, even as she did, we caught sight of the sparkling waterfalls that were reflected from the light of the fireplace. Mother was crying. My brother had clutched my arm tightly, asking me in a stammering, fearful voice what was wrong. Why was mother crying? Why were our parents arguing? I had no answers to give. Father's gaze turned from us to our mother, hearing a soft question that the latter had asked. His expression became grim then, and he said something into her ear.

Whatever it told her, it sent our mother into a towering rage. Her expression was savage – but no less beautiful – and the only time I've seen that face was when a Cavern Worm almost made my brother and I its lunch. The Cavern Worm did NOT survive the encounter. "You didn't–!!"

"You know I have no choice. There and no other can they be safe."

"But…"

"No buts. We have no avenue save this. I love my children, Rose. Their lives are in my hands. If the sacrifice of my life would secure both yours and theirs, then I shall give it. You know that. The dream was good, Rose…I wanted it to last. Really, I did."

Any argument my mother made died that instant, and my father pulled her into his arms.

"Did we not defeat Melbu Frahma and your father, Dart? We are capable of defending our homes and our lives."

"Yes, we can do that. But, how many of these hunting parties would we be able to face down, Rose? They have allies and contacts _everywhere_. Do you want them to spend the rest of their lives in fear? Hunted and hated for sins they did not commit? No, _this_ is the only way. And, Rose," my father said, turning to gaze at us, "I will ask that you do this."

My father called my brother and I down, and we hurried to his side. He gazed at us, then, taking measure of what we what we would become in the future. Whatever he saw, it saddened him. Zieg and I would never understand why he would be saddened until years later. Never realised that by his choice, he would turn us into the very thing he hated – and prayed that we would be strong enough to overcome it. He then turned towards Rose and spoke in an extinct dialect that my mother understood. She raised her hands and made several gestures in the air, bluish-white fire trailing behind the movements. That was when I felt the strength leave my tiny body. Zieg sagged to the ground, whispering, "Mama...mama…"

I fought against the enchantment with all the will in my body, but my will compared to the woman who brought my brother and I into this world and had fought in an eleven millenia crusade was as nothing. Zieg had fallen first, and I fell next, asking why this was being done to us. Had we been bad or disobedient that this was a punishment fitting the wrong we had done?

My father had caught me as I fell, and the last thing I heard was my mother's broken-hearted sob. That was a sound that would be gouged deep into my memory. And like I said before, few things – very few things – could move my mother to tears. My father's voice echoed then, his final words.

"Live, little one. No matter what happens, live."

In a soft voice, I would call out to them one last time, before darkness would come and claim me.

When I awoke next, I was in the arms of a woman clad in winter clothing. Under her fur-hood, I could make out her beautiful, toughened features that were also delicate, telling me that the woman was half-wingly. My brother was in the arms of another, a man, and like the woman, he too was half-wingly. The winds bit deep into my bones, despite the fact that I was covered in winter clothing. In the distance, I saw a horizon burning crimson as though a great fire had been lit. Lightning forked down from the skies and comets came slashing down, leaving fiery trails in the night sky before smashing into the ground. Zieg and I stared in wonderment at this sight before my surroundings told me where I was. This place was the same place where my brother and I would be taken by our father to go fishing. Our home was in the same direction where…the fire was. My brother and I exchanged horrified looks. He had come to the same conclusion as well. It became clear why our mother had cast her enchantments on us. I had leapt out of the woman's arms with a strength that belied my small form, and charged across the snow-covered tarmac. The wingly-man, alarmed, shouted, "Jaheira, stop him!"

Zieg struggled against the man's stronger grip in a vain attempt to free himself, but found himself held fast. Running across snow was difficult, I soon found out, but the woman dashed through the snow as though it were nothing. It was like she was floating, so effortless was the way she moved. In a charge, she brought me down in a tackle and used her weight to pin me down as I screamed and fought desperately. I wanted to see my parents, to see if they had survived this…this nightmare. I had the thought of it BEING a nightmare, but the weight and the screaming of the woman on my back and the biting cold of the snow told me otherwise.

"Don't do it, Shateiel. Don't make their lives a waste…please. Please, don't."

Her arms tightened around me, cutting off any futile resistance I was putting up.

"I don't care! I must go back to my mama and papa! I want to go back home!"

I increased my resistance but the shock-wave of an immense explosion that threw both of us to the ground ended it. In the distance, where my home used to be, a great pillar of fire in the shape of a cross erupted. It illuminated the entire vicinity like a second sun, the heat touching me like my mother's hand. My eyes filled with tears, and I collapsed into Jaheira's strong arms.

My brother and I were brought to Garden Falaris, within the Archduchy of Ekyolan-Falaria. Here was where our new home would be. Our parents told us about the Gardens and the arduous trials that made young men and women into SeeDs. But, here in Garden Falaris, unlike any other Garden, the trials had a very high attrition rate. Six in ten students never survive the final trial that would elevate them into Dark Templars of Garden Falaris. Jaheira warned us that this was the price for us to remain in the Garden – we had to become SeeDs ourselves. The other option was to be sent to an orphanage, and after remembering what my parents had said, the choice between choosing certain death and probable death was easy. I gripped my hands around the mithril amulet of the flying sword beneath my clothes – the only memory of my parents – and made my choice.

When I would next care to look into the mirror long enough at my reflection, I saw the image of a youth fast disappearing. My eyes held a cold, flat gaze, and my dark eyes had a tint of amber to it. Where other children at 12 would be enjoying their childhood, my brother and I were schooled in the crafts beyond what most children our age would do. We were taught how to wield weapons, how to use them, how to see to its maintenance. And like every other child, we were educated – if only differently. The Gardens were essentially school, military base and home all in one. Life in Garden Falaris was good – if not difficult. And as Jaheira had promised, she had personally ensured that our lives there were not made easy. We were always expected to do better than our peers, or risk her ire. The results were telling. While Zieg was able to rein in his murderous impulse, I found it far, _far_ more difficult. The end result was that I had injured five students, and even Jaheira herself, the Senior Instructor and the woman who rescued me when I was a child.

Months would finally become years, and when I looked back at the mirror again, a boy of 16 gazed back at me. The years pass swiftly, I thought to myself. I bore a striking resemblance to my mother, with my dark hair and eyes. In those years that had passed, I had chosen a weapon as ever SeeD was meant to take as part of his or her mastery. Though SeeDs were proficient with every weapon ever created, the mastery of their chosen weapons make them lethal in the extreme. Combining years of training and dedication along with the ability to make swift tactical judgements to handle any given situation, SeeDs were favoured for missions that most Special Forces would find difficult. Thus, it was the reason why most governments hired SeeDs.

That, along with their abilities to wield Guardian Forces and utilise sorcery and psychic powers had honed to perfection their skill in murder. Though the other Gardens did not emphasise it on the outlook of their mobile strongholds – which were often beautiful and awe-inspiring – Garden Falaris was the exception. The spires and cathedral-like structure of the massive flying ship-fortress was a grim reminder to the inhabitants of the world of the grim trade of the SeeD organisation. The ship-fortress was a transport, bearing Angels of Death to every battleground to bring death and destruction upon those with the power and wealth to purchase their abilities. Each Garden was different, each with its own strengths and weaknesses.

Our most telling weakness was that the Dark Templars of Garden Falaris were few in number and we were barely a third of the strength of any normal Garden on or off world. Our strength was the one factor that made us easily the rival of the mightiest Gardens. While the technology utilised by most Gardens made use of precious SCT templates from the years preceding the First Usurpation War as well as improved designs made by the Gardens' own Technological Department, Garden Falaris's came from a race beyond the stars.

It was this superior technology that gave us our feared edge in combat that the cruel drow of the Midnight Kingdom feared us. For each cadet who would take his place amidst the Dark Templar ranks, each was given a Warp-sword, a Shadow Cloak and an Iron Halo. The former could tear through any known form of armour with contemptuous ease, and the Shadow Cloak rendered the user invisible – a better version of the Ghost operative's own Cloaking device. The Iron Halo would wrap the bearer in a protective shield of energy as he or she went into battle. Only upon death would all three be returned to the Armoury and re-consecrated by the Chaplains. A single rune would be added to the Shadow Cloak to mark how many Dark Templars had carried up the blade and protected by the Halo.

Tradition was something that was respected in Garden Falaris. The Garden, almost a thousand

years old, was one of the first Gardens to be founded. The bestowing of the three items – the Warp Sword, the Shadow Cloak and the Iron Halo – was a ritual honoured for centuries. Jaheira saw to it that my brother and I received additional gifts in addition to what we received. To my brother, Jaheira gave my father's formidable sword and the Fire Dragoon stone that mirrored his fiery heart and fierce passion to live. To me, she gave _Ienh-Falaris­_, a magical talon-shaped gauntlet forged in the Age of Chaos, as well as the Dragoon stone of Darkness – both of which belonged to my mother. Such a breach of tradition was outrageous – particularly when it was performed at the Rite of Ascension – and Jaheira soon found herself explaining to High Templar Justin Wallace and several members of the Inner Circle why she had done such a thing. Amongst them was the half-wingly man who had assisted in our rescue, Khalid Al-Khaziel. He had been Jaheira's husband before their eventual divorce; the reasons why were vague, but after it was done, Khalid bore a seeming hatred of me. The argument that raged within the High Templar's office had been extremely heated, but it eventually saw to the High Templar giving way. My brother and I found that surprising. There was more give in a mountain than in High Templar Justin Wallace.

I have never failed to notice how protective Jaheira was of my brother and I. Neither did I fail to notice whenever her wistful gaze whenever they alighted on me. Whatever she saw in me, I never know. The other girls in Garden Falaris gave me a wide berth, especially since the incidents of me almost murdering my fellow students made me very unpopular. But, Zieg, on the other hand, was a girl-magnet. Handsome and golden-haired as our father, and combining his gentleness made him everything I wasn't. I needed only to look at Zieg to see what I lacked.

The years passed, and when I reached twenty, did the incident regarding the Sorceress Ultimecia begin. Sorceresses had a tendency to pop out in Galbadia and Esthar, it would seem. In the past half- century, two Sorceresses had emerged from that region of the world alone. Adel had ruled Esthar before she was imprisoned, and Ultimecia came several years later. If Adel had been a powerful, Ultimecia was nightmarishly more so. Of all the Daughters of Hyne – as Sorceresses were known – Ultimecia had been the most powerful. At that time, only the region's Gardens were able to respond. Garden Balamb, Garden Trabia, Garden Galbadia and WHITE Garden. Several Gardens from neighbouring countries had converged on that region of the world, but those that were too far could only pray for their success. Garden Falaris was one such, and had been locked in a battle in the country of Shudra. Said nation stood upon the northern borders of Darmenia, and had been locked in a violent dispute with Darmenia for a long time. Shudra had been part of Darmenia long before the First Usurpation War, but some of its separatist warlords were having none of it. As a result, Galbadia and the Imperial Dominion stepped in with an iron fist when negotiations failed. When one of the Protector-class transports carrying Knights of the Dominion Knightly Orders crashed within hostile territory and became an all-out rescue attempt before they fell into the militia's hands, Time Compression erupted.

As the Sorceress's spell spread throughout Terra, the effect, I learnt later, on each individual was different. But, for my brother and I, the reasons for why our parents had been murdered and why Jaheira had spent so much time ensuring we did not act rashly become evident. The memory of the argument our parents had before they sent us away. It all became evident. Jaheira and Khalid must have known it for a long time, but wanted to see us lead normal lives. Even Khalid, long fearing us, wanted the same thing. But the Sorceress's spell shattered the chains that held the Beast shackled. And when it rose up, it was nearly unstoppable. The reason for that was this: my brother and I were only three steps away from our unholy ancestor. The Curse in our blood was inherently stronger than in any of our siblings. And, consequently, what happened was reason enough why the Bhaalspawn of legend were so feared. Especially when they were of the 3rd Generation.

The mission had been a scrambled one, with Dominion and Galbadian elite troops entering hostile territory, and some Special Forces operatives risking danger to get their brothers and sisters out. SeeD strike forces had dispersed into the city, setting up strong points to ensure that the escape routes were secured. Some of these operatives were not so successful, and it was upon this that the Death Angels led by Jaheira came upon teleported down from the cruiser that spread the SeeDs across the city. We came upon a bloodthirsty crowd who were parading the dead bodies of the small squad of cadets who had been deployed. One of the surviving members, a girl whose clothes and armour were torn, was crucified – screaming – to the nearby plaster wall with her own power daggers. I don't need to tell you what would follow. The girl was barely older than I, and her screams were heart-rending.

You know what was unnerving? I have seen sights like this before, and I have felt _nothing_. But, the Beast in me was snarling and straining against the shackles, and when Time Compression gripped the world, those chains broke. The crowd was horrified when 12 Death Angels – the elite of Garden Falaris – had appeared out of nowhere, their shimmering cloaks wrapped about them like folded black wings. Those horrified looks soon became screams of terror when I leapt down amidst a crowd almost two hundred strong. The power armour I wore transformed, and the wings of my Black Dragoon Armour soon eclipsed the sun. The scream of rage I unleashed was the howl of an angry god as the Beast overtook me in a haze of crimson.

In the space of the six hours that it took for the Dominion and Galbadian forces to extricate the forces trapped within enemy territory, I turned an entire section of the city into rubble and spilt rivers of blood. The scene, when I finally regained control, was Hell. I could not describe it any other way. It was as though the Goddess Herself had smote this entire section of the city from Heaven. Zieg tore apart another section, but the devastation he wrought was nothing compared to what I had done.

And I felt nothing.

Nothing save a black-hearted joy as the Beast within me roared with triumphant laughter.

When Jaheira and the other Death Angels came to get me, their eyes held the fear and horror that they had witnessed. But, there had been no condemnations. They knew for a long time. But, the rest of Garden Falaris did not. And their hate is a bitter one to bear. I took the full blame rather than let my brother share in the punishment. Jaheira and the High Templar had been angry, but knew that it would be better this way.

The failure of Time Compression, however, had done something else. I know. So does Zieg. Both of us sensed it. It had awoken the seed of evil long dormant within the hearts of the remaining Children of Bhaal. It will, without question, force the Children to clash in conflict. And it would begin soon. It would drag hundreds and thousands to their deaths before it would finally come to an end. One way or the other, the Prophecy set down eleven thousand years ago will come to a conclusion.

Let the end come.

I am not afraid.

I will live to see a new sunrise.


	3. Chapter 1

_**Chapter 1: A shadow over Galbadia**_

_**Tuesday night, July 16**__**th**__**, Year 4051, Deling City, 2245 hrs, Standard Continental time**_

Deling City. The heartland and capital of the nation of Galbadia, one of the mightiest countries in the world. Tall, spired buildings beautifully crafted from the hands of artisans made this city akin to a paradise on earth. Statues so lifelike one could imagine them being alive. Great ivory archways lined in gold made Deling City a place of beauty. Deling City was also rich in history, being the place where a great man with a vision had once – long ago – erected a nation from a mere village. And ever since that time, the Deling Family, the founders of Galbadia, had ruled the nation through the centuries, leading its people into greatness. Its people had believed in their autocratic rulers, for theirs had been a rule that had seen them stride through the pages of history like a titan.

But, that blind faith in the Deling Family's rule would see its people being used without their knowledge, convinced that it was for the greater good of their country. Eventually, the same pride that made the Galbadians stride through history like a titan made them seek to impose their will on others.

Those who would not submit to Galbadia's imperialistic rule, like the independent province of Timber, soon found its government swiftly capitulating than face the might of its larger neighbour's massive army. When that was done, Galbadia turned its attention on its neighbouring state – the Dollet Dukedom. The peace treaty that Galbadia had signed a generation ago with Dollet fell to ashes. The extremists on Dollet's side had said that the treaty would not last long, not while Galbadia's imperialistic mindset remained. Those on Galbadia's end were just waiting for the treaty to be broken.

But, unlike the province of Timber, the Dollet Dukedom would not simply roll over. The Dukedom called upon the elite mercenary forces of the SeeD organisation, an army whose young soldiers were renowned the world over for having almost no peer in the arts of war and espionage. But, because of their excellent skills, the price of summoning in these elite operatives was a high one. But, never once had the SeeDs disappointed their employers or failed in their missions. The time that Dollet hired them to aid in its war against Galbadia started a chain of events that would see to the rise of the Sorceress Ultimecia.

And it was all because of one man whose power lust would not be sated until the banner of Galbadia flew on every nation on Terra. Vinzer Deling – 50th President of Galbadia – would die because of that ambition, lured to it by the promises that Ultimecia tempted him with. The aftermath of Vinzer Deling's rule had been both a social and political nightmare for the government. Countless had died because of Vinzer's ambitions, and though the citizens of Galbadia wanted to blame it on him, they blamed themselves for believing in the Sorceress. But just as many blamed SeeD for the deaths of their sons and daughters, and had condemned the heroes that had saved the world from destruction as being murderers. Why, they had asked, why could you not have spared my child?

Many a time, they had demanded answers from the SeeDs, who would not answer. They knew all too well that no words of theirs would alleviate the sorrow caused by the war.

General Caraway raised his wineglass to his lips and drank once more. He had been there, at Vinzer's side when he agreed to the Sorceress's bargain. She would grant Vinzer the power he needed to fulfil his ambition. She had tempted Vinzer in the same fashion that she had tempted Seifer Almasy, the boy his daughter, Rinoa, had once loved before he was cast out of SeeD and became the Sorceress's Knight. The general smiled bitterly at that thought. Sorceress's Knight. In legends of old, the Knights of the Daughters of Hyne have always been heroes. And herein was the irony of it all – where was the heroism in supporting a Sorceress whose deeds ran counter to the works of all her sisters who came before her?

But, done it he had. Done it as the Knights of old had done, and followed his Sorceress as they had done. In doing so, Seifer betrayed his comrades who had, no doubt, asked countless times why in the name of Heaven did they not leave him to his fate. But, without him, they could never have defeated Ultimecia. General Caraway had borne witness to those deeds of the small band of SeeD that defied the might of the Galbadians military behemoth. Never mind that they had support from other Gardens, but the group Squall Leonhart led was the one that brought the feared Galbadian juggernaut to its knees – if only temporarily. Throw in the fact that they were defying one of the mightiest Sorceresses in known history and their deeds became the stuff of legend.

Legends were always so much simpler. The world was divided into black and white.

Good and Evil.

Light and Darkness.

Right and wrong.

There was no grey area, most would like to believe. Yes, even men as old or older than he were guilty of that sin. Because, like them, some things die hard. And like them, Caraway had been a young boy once, and had believed such stories. Lowering his wineglass, the general pulled a storybook from one of the shelves, a present from his father 50 years ago. The general smiled sadly, remembering his father's rich baritone voice as he brought to life the characters in each story. A hunger for such had followed him into his teenage years, when his father had gifted him with a rare collection of books, faithfully copied from manuscripts dating from the Age of Chaos. It had been a gift from the WHITE Garden's headmaster, who had been his father's childhood friend. Those books held actual facts and a compiled story of the events of the Century of Fire eleven thousand years ago. And the books were authentic, each one worth a fortune in Gil. It was said that there were fewer than two dozen copies on and off world.

From the first strike that heralded the Sacrifice War and the bloody revolt that would escalate into the Dragon Campaign – all of that had been compiled into three volumes that would make a historian green with envy. The stories and records were dark and forbidding, befitting an era as grim as its name. Flipping through the book tenderly, he needed only to read the few pages before memory filled in the rest of the tale. It had centred around one individual, a child of Bhaal – one of the many bastard children of the said Daemon Prince. Bhaal _was_ the Lord of Murder, the blood-red Angel of Sacrifice.

Caraway shuddered at the title bequeathed to the fallen Daemon Prince. Angel. Once, atop Monument Building in the heart of the Galbadian capital where Ultimecia had addressed a crowd over a year back, the general had seen the black raven wings on her back. The Sorceress was beautiful, but that beauty was one of a finely crafted and decorated weapon. It was as though the Goddess herself had given her Daughters a beautiful façade that would act as a counter-balance to their destructive powers.

At first, _both_ he and Vinzer thought that the Sorceress's appearance was a godsend. How wrong they both were. When her hold on Galbadia was consolidated enough, Ultimecia killed Vinzer Deling to remove the only obstacle to her ruling Galbadia. Why she never did the same to Caraway, the general would never know. He was most certainly considered an obstacle to be removed, but the consequences of doing so would bring about unnecessary problems. Ultimecia's appearance had made neighbouring countries in the region wary. After Adel, any Sorceress appearing in that region of the world was viewed with suspicion and fear. But, what she did next would shock General Caraway and send every country in the region up in arms. She attacked the Gardens in the region.

If Caraway could not have seen the reason why the Midnight Kingdom of the drow and the Archangel Duchy had abandoned their decades-long alliance with Galbadia the moment Vinzer accepted the Sorceress's bargain, he did then. Vinzer had surrendered the fate of his nation, built by his family over a thousand years, into the hands of a nihilistic Daughter of Hyne.

The Galbadian Army occupied Garden Galbadia and the bombardment by its Navy had crippled Garden Trabia. When Caraway had asked the Sorceress the reason for these attacks, she had been willing to answer instead of killing him. Ultimecia had explained that the greatest threat to her power and her plans came not from the nations surrounding Galbadia but from the SeeDs themselves. Her main reason to occupy or to cripple any neighbouring Gardens had been a simple one – it was to deprive her primary target of any support whatsoever.

And that target was the smallest one in the entire region. Balamb Garden.

What could be there that could such a great threat? There were less than nine hundred SeeDs there, including cadets, and the weapons mounted on the Garden were the standard weapons found on a carrier. There was nothing there that could force the Sorceress or her Knight to react in such a fashion. Ultimecia had hinted that the greatest threat to her in her time was in Balamb Garden. Who or what it was, she would not say.

Ultimecia had then ordered ballistic missiles be launched at Balamb Garden and had sent her Knight with a host of troops abroad the captured Galbadia Garden to intercept them should they escape the barrage. The attack on Balamb soil was as much a declaration of war on the small city-state, and its defensive squadrons had launched multiple Panther-class starfighters to destroy the forward missile base. But, before the starfighters even got there, a small group of SeeD operatives – a combined operation by Balamb Garden's SeeDs and Garden Galbadia's – sabotaged the missile stockpile within the base, destroying it completely before it could fire a second salvo.

The first wave of missile attacks would have destroyed Balamb Garden, but when Squall received advance warning of the incoming missile attack from Galbadia, he had transformed Garden Balamb into a flying ship to escape the barrage. He barely did. He escaped it with several hundred metres to spare. Not even the assault mounted by the Seifer succeeded, and Garden Galbadia had suffered severe damages from the battle. Ultimecia and Seifer were determined to stop Squall Leonhart and his companions before it got out of hand. No doubt, the Sorceress knew the scale of the opposition she was up against. From the moment Ultimecia had ordered the invasion of the Dollet capital province in a strike that should have crushed Dollet completely till the very end within whatever hell Squall and his companions saw, Ultimecia did not let up trying to stop the young SeeD. Squall, likewise, was determined that whatever plans the Sorceress had would not come to pass. Because, if it did, the world would have been transformed into a living nightmare, the devastation wrought by Ultimecia's Time Compression spell making the destruction wrought by the First Usurpation War a pale shadow in comparison. And he would have lost his daughter.

Had he?

When Galbadia conquered the province of Timber, his spoilt, idealistic daughter, Rinoa had left him to fight on the side of the Forest Owls, the guerrillas that had defied Galbadia ever since Timber was occupied. It had made Caraway the laughing stock of his rivals, but the general had privately admitted to himself that this would not have happened had he been a better father. She had been his only child, and the act of disowning her had been one of the hardest things the general had to do. When they met again, Rinoa had changed – in more ways than one.

Physically, she was still the 17-year old girl in the bloom of health with a bright future ahead. But, the difference was in her eyes. They held a weight and maturity of one that Caraway had seen in the eyes of elder winglies who had lived for decades. Though still bright and lively, they had lost much of that idealistic fire that she had once possessed. Part of it was due to the trials she had undergone, and the other part had been due to the same man who had made a mockery of every attempt that the Sorceress had made to kill him. When Caraway met Squall Leonhart for the first time, he found the quiet SeeD a complete opposite of Seifer Almasy. Both of them were skilled gunbladers, but that is where the similarities ended. Squall was an iceman compared to the fiery Seifer. His brooding silence held an analytical mind that was married to his ability to think on his feet when things got messy; Seifer countered this with his capability to catch his enemies completely off-guard.

Rinoa had mentioned it before. Squall and Seifer were the opposite sides of the same coin. Had they been friends, they would have been unstoppable – but Squall was more anti-social than a Ruby Dragon and Seifer was insufferably arrogant. Not that the general needed to be told. One look at the young man who defeated the Sorceress was enough to tell anyone that the famed hero was a loner. The calm gaze when he met Caraway's eyes told the general that this was not a man easily shaken, even if the world was crumbling about his ears. Hell, he'd been at the epicentre when the Sorceress's spell collapsed and turned the Lunatic Pandora Laboratory into a smoking crater.

Squall and his companions were on their way to becoming legends themselves, but the young man clearly couldn't care less. His companions were grateful that they had survived the whole ordeal.

General Caraway put the three books back reverently on the shelves, letting out a deep sigh. He had to be strong for what was to come tomorrow, as it would be the first time the Galbadian Senate had met ever since the presidency was passed to Vinzer's younger brother, Richter Deling. The new incumbent president had spent much of his time rebuilding Galbadia's military forces and strengthening Galbadia's holdings on and off world as well as soothing over tensions with neighbouring countries in the region. With this in mind, some of his contacts within the Senate had informed Caraway that the Senate might push for an expansionist policy. Galbadia may have had taken a severe beating during the Sorceress War, but they were still powerful. Many of the younger senators were impatient, but several of the older ones – those that had managed to survive Ultimecia's rule – called for patience. Caraway shook his head sadly. The voices that opposed the motion handed down by the majority of the Senate were small. It has only been one year since Ultimecia and the Sorceress War. Why the hell are they so eager to get into another?

Caraway needed to only close his eyes, and the voices of his dead soldiers would echo in his mind as they told him their names. His eidetic memory was both a gift and a curse.

"Sergeant Xephon Randalf, 3rd Stormtroopers…."

"Private First Class Maria Hanson, 23rd Marines…."

"Lieutenant Eredar Stevens, 12th Stormtroopers…."

"Corporal Nick Lans, 65th Infantry…."

"Warrant Officer Lana Saviora of the 25th MS Platoon…."

…And on and on.

The list was endless. Caraway was the general of an army dedicated to defending a homeland he loved. He filled his army with his dream and his ideals as he led them. They had died with those ideals when they went to war under Sorceress Ultimecia, believing that the Daughter of Hyne would fulfil her promise in exchange for their sacrifice.

Death was part and parcel of the uniform.

To perform one's duty, as a soldier, is a demanding task that may require great sacrifice.

It is a fact held close to every man and woman who wore a uniform. It is a litany to those who fought on the battlefields. But, when their lives were just a means to an end, each death cut deep. Ultimecia sent so many to their deaths for a promise she had no intention of keeping.

Damn it.

General Caraway knew he had immense political power in his hands; the fact that he neglected to use them on occasion had endeared him to the army he led. Now, he'd better flex his political muscles. If he could not overturn the Senate's decision, then the least he could do was postpone the inevitable. He turned to the direction of where a portrait hung above the fireplace, "Julia, I'll keep our daughter safe. I may not have been the best father to her and…Damn it, Julia. I wish you were still alive. It would have been so much easier if you were. Our girl would not be what she is now if you were. But, I'm on my own now, and my whining," he chuckled, "won't bring you back. I will not disappoint both of us. Our baby girl deserves a good future, even if it is one with the Leonhart boy."

The general lowered his wineglass to a nearby oak table and closed his eyes. Yes, she deserved a good future. Especially now that she is a Sorceress. Hyne help Balamb Garden should the other Gardens discover that they are housing the very thing their organisation was created to destroy. But, Caraway knew that Rinoa was in good hands.

"Good night, my love," the general whispered softly as he switched off the lights in his office and closed the door.

_**Formation HQ 7**__**th**__** Galbadian, at the same time**_

Colonel Gerard, Commanding Officer of the 7th Galbadian, was not a man who liked company. Those of his inner circle knew that their commander was a recluse, used to private conversations than being in the company of his fellow officers. But, there were some people of his inner circle that the colonel welcomed, no matter what he had on hand and no matter the time of day. One such man was Senator Tallain "The Shark' Ironfist. Both men have been good friends since childhood and complemented each other well. While Gerard was fiery and impetuous, Tallain was cold and calculating. And, truth be told, the former preferred the latter's advice even if the latter was not part of the Armed Forces. Tallain's counsel had always been sound.

But, sometimes, Gerard wished his friend would not be so cautious. Which is why they were currently having a heated discussion over a particularly important matter that was dominating the ruling elite of Galbadia. While Gerard kept insisting that Galbadia was ready, Tallain informed him that now was not a good time. Though the latter had admitted that Galbadia's military arm was stronger than before, the same could not be said about the social stability of Galbadian society. It had, after all, only been a year after Ultimecia's defeat, and the scars were still fresh. The country's citizens were in no hurry to start another war outside of the long-standing one they had with the Dollet Dukedom.

After what Galbadia had done during the reign of Sorceress Ultimecia, any foolish moves would cause Galbadia to face a war on multiple fronts. To the west would be the Andosian Federation-held eastern island chain, to the north of Galbadia was Dollet, and to the East were Esthar and Balamb. The amount of manpower, hardware and resources would bankrupt Galbadia and her allies, regardless of the outcome.

Gerard had to finally concede defeat. With a disgruntled sound, he slumped back on his chair. Pinching his eyes, his voice conveyed his annoyance to his friend, "Why the hell do you always have to be right?"

"Would you prefer me being wrong?"

"Sometimes. But, you're right. But…"

"Go on."

Gerard poured his cup full of tea, before answering, "The one reason I support the expansionist policy is this: It is to show the world that Galbadia is still at the gaming table and that Ultimecia had not knocked us out yet. If we don't make a move, how would they know we're still in good shape?"

Tallain was quiet for several moments before answering, "You bring up a good point. But, remember that chess game we had last week? Do you remember how you lost your queen so easily?"

Gerard made a face, "I moved my rook to take down your queen…and your bishop moved in and took mine out, opening the way for your pawn to be promoted."

"Exactly. Think of the current situation as the chess game we played. Move the rook, and the way will be open for your enemy to attack and gain a considerable advantage over you. If you didn't move, you will have maintained a strong defensive position and kept your enemy guessing at what move you would have made next. That is what our new president is doing. One year in office, and I can tell he's not the fool our former ex-president was," said Tallain, emphasising the words 'fool' and 'ex-president'.

Gerard sipped his tea thoughtfully, "Is Richter castling?"

One side of Tallain's lips quirked up in a quiet smile, "Yes. And he's moving his pieces about into a defensive-offensive position. At a moment's notice, he can change the stance of the game."

"So, now all we can do is wait and see. Am I correct to say this?"

"Yes. You and I know how the Senate has laid out their pieces on the board. The next move is Richter's. No doubt, even now, our president is considering his next move. The Senate wants to resume business as normal; Richter knows now is not the time. He knows he will lose the game if he caves in to senatorial pressure."

"Will he?"

"I don't know. Ever since the Ultimecia incident, faith in the Deling Family has plummeted. Who can blame the people? They were not happy with the way Vinzer nearly sent the whole world off to hell. If another incident like that happened again, Galbadia is doomed."

"Appeasing the people as well as the senate. This will give anyone an off-the-scale headache. Why the hell you chose to become a politician is still something I can never understand."

Tallain smiled that sharkish smile that gave him his nickname, "Because, brother, in this way, we can watch each other's backs. We made our oaths when we were younger. And unlike the cobra-tongued politicians I see so often, I intend to keep my word."

"I'll toast to that."

"And to Galbadia. May she stand for ten thousand years."

_**Somewhere on Terra…**_

The cool, dry air that shrouded this forgotten place was ancient, the weight of it heavy with history and power. Once, in an era long gone, the heart of this place had been the gathering ground of a Demon Prince's generals and champions as they convened to plan and wage their war against their Light-worshipping kin. But, now, it was the meeting hall of a secret society that had strode through the ages. Abandoned and forgotten, this place was now only a legend in the minds of those who cared to remember. But, it suited these robed men and women, for the darkness was their ally and the members of their society have long been used to working in the shadows. Secrecy was paramount in their society, and members who have attempted to ever divulge the cabal's existence would find death a merciful release compared to the punishments they would be subjected to.

Once a year, during the final days of the year, the society would convene and discuss plans for the future. Rarely have they ever been summoned before that time, but the occasion was long overdue, and the members of this shadowy group came when the summons went out.

And the reason soon became evident at the meeting.

"I see…so that was why you never convened the Council last year. You were out investigating the latest events. The reports," one of the council members said, "that you compiled are impressive. And your deductions, my lady, are as excellent as ever. Particularly of interest to the Council is your report on Galbadia. It seems that they have not learnt their lesson. The Galbadian Senate is braver than I gave them credit for. What with the eye of the surrounding countries in the region watching their every move, you'd thought they would be more passive – or subtle, at the very least."

The speaker turned to face his leader who sat at the head of the table. Slender, auburn hair spilling from her hood, the speaker need not know that their leader was as beautiful as she was deadly. She was like the throne behind her. Beautiful, harsh and radiating authority like a miasma, both radiated an ageless presence of power. The throne, he knew from childhood storybooks, was the same throne their society's patron had sat upon when He had been exiled from the celestial realms by the Goddess Hyne.

"It does not surprise me. The factions in the Senate are trying to manoeuvre themselves so that they can take the seat of power from the current incumbent president. After Vinzer, the senate has plenty of support from the ground. But, what is interesting is that their new leader _may_ not be as spineless – or as brainless – as was his predecessor. He knows he has a hard battle ahead of him. He has to deal with _both_ the Senate and the citizens of Galbadia. He cannot afford to lose either battle."

"Indeed, my lady," a woman spoke up, "Dealing with the Deling Family is unpleasant, but it is something the countries surrounding Galbadia prefer to live with. Nobody wants a repeat of the Marcus Incident.". The Marcus Incident had happened several years before the 2nd Dragon Campaign. It had been when one of the Galbadian Senators with the same name had been appointed by the Senate to watch over the nation while the Deling Family was off-world seeing to the construction of a new colony in space. The said Senator became a puppet in the hands of the Senate itself, and had aggravated the neighbouring countries. At that time, Galbadia was dealing with economic problems, and entering a war was not the most advisable course of action. The Deling Family, receiving word from some of their loyalists, returned immediately to Terra. Haddock Deling, father of Richter and Vinzer Deling, did not hesitate to strip Senator Marcus and key members of major political parties of their positions. It was one of the rare times that Dollet – which had tense relations with Galbadia at that time – actually approving of the Galbadian president's decision.

A voice, quiet throughout the meeting, looking through the reports, spoke finally, "My lady, I have a question."

The auburn haired woman inclined a head, granting the speaker permission to speak and silencing the rest. The speaker was a male wingly, and his hooded robes could do nothing to hide the angelic wings that were folded behind him.

"It is about the one who inherited the Sorceress's power."

The shadowy Council members exchanged glances. They had been intending to get to that matter eventually, but their wingly compatriot had spoken in a voice that demanded serious consideration. Rare was it he ever spoke out of turn, or out of subject, and when he did, it was always with a good reason.

"Yes," the auburn-haired woman said, "I know who she is. Ultimecia had been a threat to us – and our goals. The Goddess's bastard Daughter would have hindered our master's rebirth. Now, with this knowledge," she said, looking down at the report, "we can change that."

"And how do you propose to do that? Kill her?" one council member at the far end of the table asked.

The auburn-haired woman's smile could be felt, if not seen, "Exactly."

The silence that followed told the woman that her words had more impact than she had originally gauged. No doubt, the plan she suggested was more audacious then the plan the Galbadian Senate had in mind. It was the wingly man who brought up the matter that finally broke through the shock first, "My lady, what you intend is not only stupid, but detrimental to our cause. Do you think that you can slay the daughter of the Lord Commander of Galbadia's armed forces that easily? Do remember she is protected by the same group that defeated Ultimecia and by the host of an entire Garden. In addition to that, General Caraway will bend his considerable resources to hunting us down if his daughter was to come to any harm."

"You bring up a good point, brother. I am not going to be careless on how I do it but I want her dead – regardless. If she lives, she can become a great threat to us. Ultimecia came from the future. How she did it, I believe you all can make reasonable deductions. It also means that her inheritor will also attain her ability to bend the laws of the Space and Time. No Daughter of Hyne from the dawn of creation _has_ that power. We all felt the power of the Time Compression spell that exploded as a consequence of Ultimecia's failed attempt. Do you want to experience it a second time?"

The audible silence was as good as an answer.

"Good, at least we all can agree on something. The other reason I want Ultimecia's inheritor dead is not for personal reasons only. Had she been someone else, I would not have hesitated to act without your agreement. But, as she is someone of importance, her death is something we can make use of to further our cause; it is but part of the plan I have in mind."

The council members exchanged looks again.

"Then tell us about it, my lady. Truth be told, none of us here can tell what is it you have planned. Or do you not trust us enough to tell us?"

The auburn-haired woman smiled, a cobra's smile, "I will tell you all in due time. Just enjoy the play that will unfold. You will find the events most entertaining. We will put our cards into the game when the time is right."


	4. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2: Unanswered questions**_

_**Wednesday, July 17**__**th**__** 4051, 0830 hrs, Balamb Garden Training Halls**_

The snow-capped mountains loomed behind the training grounds of Balamb Garden, and the setting sun gleamed off the white-washed walls that was home to a group of mercenaries to ever stride the world. SeeD. A mobile army whose students were trained to wield the weapons of the known world in one hand and unleash the might of Guardian Forces with another. Theirs were the services bought in cold, hard Gil that was the currency of Terra. From espionage to assassinations, the SeeD organisation undertook them all, regardless of the risk. Cold-blooded, ruthless and professional, the operatives of the Gardens took no prisoners, and only a disaster could cause them to fail in their mission. That was the perspective on them held by the majority of the world – and it was in contrast to the beautiful and serene looking Garden, whose students welcomed visitors with friendly smiles and warm handshakes.

Balamb Garden was also home to the Sorceress Team, the small group that had dared to face down the wrath of the mightiest Sorceress in recorded history and triumphed. It had raised the Garden's prestige higher than before, and new recruits had flooded the Garden's ranks. And therein lies the problem that was giving its new incumbent commander a colossal headache. While the advantage of having new recruits saw to it that the Garden could field full Strike Forces of 25 to 30 operatives per mission, the disadvantages of having to train and equip them was the only setback. Balamb Garden had a shortage of Instructors, and was forced to open a request for transfers from other Gardens.

Squall Leonhart had faced down a Sorceress whose power approached godlike and barely won. Defeating the paperwork that came with being commander is just as painful. If he had lost, Seifer would have taken Ultimecia down. At least, it would spare the introverted Squall the hero worship that followed his victory and he would almost smirk at the curses that his rival would unleash at having to handle the paperwork that was the bane of his existence. But, there was no use complaining, is there? If he had lost, he would not be alive to complain.

The SeeD commander sighed quietly as he watched the cadets training from the balcony of the training hall he was in. Before him, he saw one of the Senior Instructors, a wingly by the name of Iyanna, training new cadets how to utilise basic sorcery instead of relying on Guardian Forces. The class he was personally supervising was a graduating batch who would soon go out on their first mission. Their successful return would elevate them to the long-aspired rank as a full SeeD – if they were careful enough not to get killed in the process.

He rejoined them in the training room as they sparred with one another. There were about 40 of them left out of a grand total of 170 cadets. Some dropped out, others transferred, and some have died in the course of the year that had passed. The last instance was what made being a SeeD a dangerous vocation – to say nothing of the missions they undertook. One could die before one became a full SeeD. That this lot had survived to even take their final exams was praise enough. Now, all that was left was to see if they could endure the test of combat on a real battlefield.

The cadets sparred in duelling circles 10 to 15 metres in diameter, each able to set up a force field should the instructor deem his charges worthy enough to use their Guardian Forces. Runes set about the base of each duelling circle would ensure that the Guardian Forces would be unable to use their full power lest they kill the cadet. The force field would ensure that stray magical bolts injured no one.

Squall strode into one such circle, nodding to one of the Garden staff manning the console on the far side of the room. Immediately, a soft cone of blue light shot down from the ceiling. His gunblade, Lionheart, swept from its resting-place on his shoulder as its wielder took on a battle stance. Sweat drenched the undershirt he wore beneath his unbuttoned SeeD uniform. Like all SeeDs, Squall's body was lean and strong, and like every veteran of the SeeD organisation, he bore the scars of many battles. The most lurid one was the pale scar that had been caused by Ultimecia's Ice Lance when they attempted to take her down before her hold on Galbadia was consolidated.

Closing his eyes, the Garden Commander began training, his gunblade humming through the air as he performed the _kata_ that was tradition amongst all the Gardens.

One year had passed since he and his small team had defeated Ultimecia. Has it been that long already? Has it been that long since that confrontation in her fortress? There were times when Squall dreaded closing his eyes, for to close it was to see Ultimecia in all her unholy glory. He could still remember the poisonous hate and the furious passion in the Sorceress's golden eyes whenever she looked at him. Ultimecia had unleashed spells lost to the memory of Terra's elder races, and each had the force of an angry goddess behind them. The ensuing battle all but shook the majestic citadel of the Sorceress to its very foundations.

Sometimes, he wondered how the Hell he had won in the first place. 13 of them – including Seifer and his posse – against the might of one such as Ultimecia were still long odds. As Zell had put it, Ultimecia threw everything but the kitchen sink at them.

In his mind, the Guardian Force Shiva began to arouse from her slumber as he called out to her. And as usual, the Ice Guardian responded swiftly. Squall had been learning how to channel his Guardian Force's abilities through his weapons. Combination Guardian Force attacks – or the Channelling Discipline – was the mainstay of the SeeDs of Garden Cevar, which made the normal weapons they utilise all the more deadly. The results have been known to be spectacular when they employed their dizzying array of martial arts that Cevar was known for.

The air around his blade began to release tendrils of icy vapour as he channelled Shiva's icy power through his gunblade. Squall knew he did not need to worry about the weapon shattering from being too brittle. Like the weapons of the era, they were made to withstand extreme temperatures. And Lionheart was more than just an ordinary gunblade. Shiva's icy power roiled in him like a thunderstorm, like a lover's caress.

_ Training hard again? _Shiva's wintry voice spoke in his mind.

_Being commander of a Garden does not necessarily mean I get the right to loaf._

_ You? Loaf? The word does not even exist in your vocabulary. Are you going to try it again today? _

_Yes._

_ Controlling such power is not easy, Squall. It takes time. Don't rush it. _

_I know._

Squall closed his eyes and started focusing. Though a majority of Gardens across the world had access to common skills and war-gear, some Gardens had specialist skills and equipment that were restricted to the members of their Garden alone. Garden Falaris was another such example. Secretive and insular, their methods both deadly and enigmatic, the arrival of these angels of death upon a battlefield would herald an immediate slaughter. Protected by technology that was generations ahead of every Garden and nation, the Dark Templars' enigmatic battlefield tactics were one many Gardens had tried to emulate. Most nations who attempted to run off with the technology that was so jealously guarded by the Dark Templars soon found themselves regretting their decision. Their fate was not one openly discussed, but it was clear that it was _extremely _unpleasant.

And Squall could understand why. He had seen the Dark Templars in action before. Though their Strike Forces were significantly smaller than most Gardens, it did not make them any less deadly. The name bestowed by many nations and Gardens alike suited them. And some of the powers he had seen some of the Dark Templar veterans use were the same ones Ultimecia herself had used against him. Where most Gardens utilised the use of Guardian Forces and sorcery, Garden Falaris included a third ability. Psychic powers. While powerful in battle, it demanded that the user be able to focus in the midst of a firefight and risked the danger of an enemy sniper taking out the psyker. But, the power they wielded was far more advanced than the ones Ghost operatives possessed. Only Garden Falaris and the Imperial Dominion had the proper training facilities to train psykers to a degree when their powers could be used offensively.

_Foolish SeeD. Arrogant SeeD. Brave SeeD._

Again, Ultimecia's mocking voice echoed in Squall's mind. She had staggered back, her slender, taloned hands resting on her ruined throne to support herself.

_You thought you won. My defeat is only the beginning._

The wound was fatal. She knew it. Her eyes gazed at him with the weight of a ruined world behind them. Full of sorrow and anguish.

_It will not be my hand that destroyed the world, Leonhart._

Blood spilt to the shattered marble.

_The Children of Fate and the Children of Darkness will be at the eye of the storm. Blood will flow in torrents and the holy soil of Terra will crack beneath the karmic debt that waits to be paid. _

A tornado of icy vapour spun around Lionheart as Squall summoned Pandemona, the Guardian Force of the Wind, and channelled its powers into the blade. Even though the force field was up and the runes of protection were at full power, the room's temperature had dropped drastically. It was enough to make every cadet in the room stop training to look at their commander. Sweat was already pouring down his forehead despite the plummeting temperature. Focusing such power, as Shiva had told him earlier, was not easy and a lapse of concentration could knock the user unconscious. The strain of doing so was perhaps the one reason why only the strongest or most experienced SeeD would utilise the discipline, even though Channelling was taught in the Advanced Classes. It was the toughest subject to pass in the entire SeeD organisation, and less than five hundred SeeDs – the majority being the SeeDs of Garden Cevar – had the ability to utilise such powers.

But, because the powers unleashed by a Channelling Discipline combined the power of two Guardian Forces, the technician quickly began diverting all power to Squall's force field and set the runes of protection to full power.

_I failed. It had been for nothing after all. _

Ultimecia had slumped to her knees, her lifeblood pouring out of her wounds.

_You are proud, my beautiful Lion. But pride will not save Terra nor spare the thousands of innocents that will die because you chose to defy me. _

_I don't have much time…_

_I will show you…_

Squall gave vent to a snarl more suited to a hunting lion than a human and smashed his gunblade into the ground. A tornado of ice swirled at hurricane speeds, as the forms of Pandemona and Shiva hovered over Squall, combining the powers of Wind and Ice into a furious crescendo. Even though the force field was set to full power and the runes inscribed upon the floor were glowing brightly, the cadets were still nervous. Who wouldn't be? Each of them knew how powerful a Combination Guardian Force attack was. If the shield gave way, no one in the room was going to undergo the final exam.

_And then, I will accept my fate. _

The tornado dissipated as Shiva and her compatriot faded away, leaving behind a mortally exhausted Squall who was leaning on his gunblade as a support. More than one cadet breathed a sigh of relief that the force field had held up to the punishment their commander had subjected it to. Sweat drenched Squall's face and his black and silver-scrollworked uniform was plastered to his body, causing the female cadets a chance to ogle their idol without retribution. One of them finally got the courage to approach him and asked, "Are you all right, commander?"

Squall recognised the voice without even needing to look at the cadet. It belonged to Shara Icelander, the red-haired girl that was the class's representative and one of his many admirers. Like him, she carried a gunblade, albeit that it was the smaller and lighter version of Seifer's Hyperion. Seifer would have enjoyed such hero-worship but Squall found it irritating beyond description. Why they admired him was something Squall did not understand. What was so great about him defeating Ultimecia? What was so magnificent about facing down seemingly insurmountable odds and emerging triumphant? He remembered an old saying that was all too true – Fate can be ironic. Somewhere, along the line, a twist of fate, an altered decision, and Seifer would be here as commander of Garden, and Squall would be a hunted exile. But, here he was, striding the cherished dream of his rival.

"Will you teach us that discipline one day, sir?" another cadet asked, breaking Squall out of his thoughts. It was then that Squall noticed that the entire class had ceased training. The reason why was obvious. He was supposed to train the cadets and prepare them for the forthcoming exam. And here he was, experimenting with a new technique that most of them aspired to learn. If Quistis were here, she would shake her in exasperation.

"When you're ready."

The cadets took the subtle hint and resumed training. Squall watched them carefully as he rested on a nearby bench. And though his eyes were focused upon his students, his mind replayed the words that held in them an ominous promise. _What did Ultimecia mean that it would not be her hand that destroys Terra?_

_**Balamb Garden Mess Hall, 1015 hrs**_

"No fair, I've lost again!" Zell whined as he threw down the triple-triad cards once more, and glared at the raven-haired beauty that sat across him. The young woman smiled as she said, "You never won, even when you cheated, Zell."

"Huh? What? Who told you such stories?"

Another woman, with brown hair and an ever-perky expression on her face, grinned, and answered for her friend, "Who? I think it was Irvine."

The cowboy that sat nearby straightened in his chair, indicating that he had heard Selphie. He turned slowly, an annoyed expression on his face, "I am not deaf, Selphie. I did not spread those stories. Talk about pots calling kettles black!"

"Hey! Rinoa, tell Zell who was the one who spread the stories about him cheating!"

Rinoa smiled at Selphie, before turning her eyes upon Zell, "Don't deny the fact, Zell. Even I know you've been cheating from way back then."  
"Wah! No fair! Three against one!"

While Zell shook his head and tried to pin the rumour-mongering of him cheating on Irvine, Selphie turned towards her friend and said, "Hey, Rinoa, I heard that Galbadia may be sending a contingent to the Imperial Dominion to celebrate the Liberation Day Anniversary in October. Hope Squall will give us the chance to go; the parties held for that event are said to be awesome."

Rinoa nodded absently. It had only been over a month since the first anniversary of Ultimecia's defeat had been celebrated throughout Terra. While not as riotous and joyous as the Liberation Day Anniversary, it held masses of subdued men, women and children. There was no telling how many lives have been lost due to Vinzer's ambition and the Sorceress's plans. She had sacrificed so many with her honeyed words and poisoned lies. But, to what end? What was the reason? Ultimecia came from the future, returning to the past to commit an act that would see her name reviled in the pages of history. That train of thought led to one disturbing question. How far the future, Rinoa had asked, when it was she herself to whom the Sorceress had passed her powers? The memory of the day they won was a day that was ingrained deep into Rinoa's memories.

The way Ultimecia's clawed hand grasped her own was full of desperate strength, pulling Rinoa close. She had thought that the Sorceress wanted to kill her, and the fierce glow in her golden eyes told the frightened girl that that had been her original intention. But, something stopped her. She looked almost…sad, then.

_Remember your childhood, for they will not come again._

Her voice, when she spoke, was no longer that harsh hiss full of venomous hatred, but one that reminded Rinoa of broken dreams and lost innocence. It spoke of a wrong that she could never hope to right. That, even though she held the dim hope, she knew she could not alter the future that was to come. Because, the future was the past, an endless circle of which that could not be contravened.

_Embrace the present, for they will never come again. Treasure your memories and your moments, for life was made up of such._

Her smile was beautiful then.

_What did you see, my unsullied angel? What did you see when I opened the vista for you?_

Rinoa had seen infinite possibilities on the Wheel of Time, of past, present and future. She saw the myriad possibilities that could have been. Some brought joy-filled tears to her eyes, while others brought grief, and some actually made Rinoa terrified. But, none of them gave Rinoa the reason why Ultimecia had chosen to risk everything to stop time itself from ever advancing. If she were to find the reason in the myriad timelines, she would have gone mad trying.

When, Squall came closer, the Sorceress's eyes had hardened. There was no hatred there. Only bitter disappointment and the knowledge that her efforts had been in vain. Would always be in vain. All because of him – the one person who somehow defied fate. The one person behind the unknown reason why Ultimecia would do what she did. Not out of hate…there had been no hate in her eyes even when it hardened.

"Rinoa! Earth to Rinoa, can you hear me?"

The raven-haired Sorceress was shaken from her thoughts, startled, as she noticed Selphie waving one hand in front of her face.

"You okay, Rin? You spaced out on me just now."

"Sorry, just thinking."

"What, about Squall? Speaking of which, when are you going to marry him? Many of the girls I spoke to are wild about him, you know! If you don't grab him fast, someone else just might!"

"Selphie, please!"

But, even though Rinoa knew that the sunny girl was teasing her, she knew that the latter's words carried a weight of truth. Squall Leonhart was handsome. Of that there was no doubt. With his almond- coloured hair, his stormy blue-grey eyes, and his scar all accentuated a face that captivated her and many young girls on Terra. Rinoa could not blame them. In their eyes (and hers), Squall was the mortal image of an invincible archangel.

"Indeed. For once, you'd best listen to Selphie, Rinoa," a voice interrupted, causing Rinoa to turn to see Quistis settling herself into the chair to join her, "Before I succumb to temptation and do grab him." The beautiful blonde-haired instructor had a teasing smile on her otherwise stern façade.

Rinoa made a face, "No chance!"

Quistis chuckled briefly before her face became serious once more, "Headmaster Cid has called all of us to his office. From what I gathered, I can deduce it's something about Galbadia."

Rinoa and Selphie exchanged grim, knowing looks. The latter's sunny expression had faded upon the mention of Galbadia. Even the on-going argument between Zell and Irvine had stopped cold. The memory of when Galbadia had taken control of Galbadia Garden was still fresh in their memories. Seifer himself had led the assaults that had decimated the SeeDs there before taking the captured Garden to intercept Balamb Garden's escape. Though Seifer had redeemed himself in the confrontation with Ultimecia, there were still those who could not – would not – forgive his betrayal. The reason that he was under the mind-control of Ultimecia was a moot point.

Rinoa, Selphie and Quistis headed for the door before the last realised that Zell and Irvine were still sitting at their tables. "Zell, Irvine, I did say ALL of us."

The two young men got up and hurried over. Selphie, hoping to re-ignite the good cheer among her friends, asked, "Guys, I'll be needing some help for the party to welcome our friends from the other Gardens. I'm wracking my brains, and it won't be long before I suffer a nervous breakdown. Rinoa? I can definitely use your ideas on this one – I'm running out."

Rinoa giggled, "I don't mind helping, Selphie. It gives me the chance to stay in Garden longer and enjoy the privileges of being the Commander's girl. My father always told me to marry rich." Her friends grinned at that remark. As they strode past the sliding doors, a voice spoke behind them, "I hope that does not happen anytime soon."

Everyone whirled to see Squall behind them, his back to the wall, clad in his elaborate black-and-silver SeeD uniform. His gunblade was sheathed at his belt. Just like Squall to be as quiet as a cat – and with equally sharp ears. The faint smile on his face told everyone that he had heard every word Rinoa had said.

"It does not bode well for my SeeD career if I marry a Sorceress now," Squall told the flustered girl. Rinoa laughed and hugged him before Quistis strode up to him. The SeeD Commander reluctantly disengaged himself from his raven-haired angel, and the former could see something spark within his former instructor's eyes. It was hooded too swiftly for him to discern what it was, but he could tell that it was something minor compared to what was on her mind.

"Galbadia?"

"Yes."

"I'm not surprised. So, what are the reports from our agents inside Galbadia?"

"The military arm of Galbadia is still strong and is showing signs of becoming stronger still. They have been on a heavy recruitment drive ever since their current president came to power. Our agents inside Galbadia report that the arms factories in Galbadia have been increasing their output since last year."

"Are they intending to go to war, Quistis?"

"I don't know; the evidence certainly points that way. While Galbadia is still strong economically and militarily, the same cannot be said about its social and political situation. There is still dissent and unrest over what happened last year. President Richter Deling cannot risk displeasing the Senate, or he would lose a good number of his supporters, or the people – and he cannot afford to deal with a civilian revolt. Headmaster Cid will most probably have a better picture than the one I'm giving you."

"In that case, let's not keep him waiting."

_**Office of the Headmaster, Balamb Garden**_

Headmaster Cid Kramer was not alone as he listened carefully to the report that his agent in Galbadia gave him. While his normally cheerful and genial face was creased in a frown, his companion – a dark-haired, beautiful woman who looked almost two decades his junior – had a look of placid calm. Had any onlooker seen that expression, most would deduce that the woman was uninterested. But the seated Headmaster, the agent, and those closest to the two knew otherwise. That placid calm meant that the woman's razor-sharp mind was at work as it attempted to see the overall picture. After all, the woman had ruled Galbadia in the guise of Sorceress Ultimecia. She had _almost_ anticipated the move Galbadia was about to make.

"So, Headmaster, that's what I've got so far from my contacts in the government. I dare not ask more for fear of blowing the fact that we're in to every move they're making. Galbadia's Internal Security people are not the sort of people you'd want to anger."

"Is there anything else you wish to report?"

A brief silence.

"Yes, but this is something I believe you already know – or at least expect. Galbadia's political factions are back to their old games again and, unlike the last time, they have got plenty of ground support. Vinzer made a big mistake – and one that would damn well cause the Deling Family dearly. They're barely clinging on to power as it is. Despite so, Richter has the loyalty of the Army and the colonies off world. Most importantly is the fact that the Archangel Duchy and the Midnight Kingdom will not deal with any figurehead Galbadia's major political factions will put in power.

"Speaking of which, there is something I heard from Shiann that troubles me…"

"Go on, Valkaze."

"There are rumours that the Archangel Duchy may well be returning to its imperialistic ambitions. I've gone to several Duchy-held colonies off world three months ago and I ask you to take Shiann's report seriously. You might even have to go as far as to inform the other Garden Masters."

Cid exchanged a look with his wife. The Archangel Duchy was the beautiful, ancient homeland of the wingly race – the beings that had once reigned supreme over Terra for many centuries before their empire collapsed in the Century of Fire. The Duchy was the original place where the worship of the Angel Lords first began before it spread throughout Terra in the centuries preceding the Dragon Campaign during the empire's final years. The one thing that history agrees on up to the present is that the armies of the wingly nation are formidable. Combining their natural ability to fly with technology and sorcerous power matched only by their ancient enemies of the Midnight Kingdom, the wingly armies are professional shock troops capable of knocking holes in their adversaries' battle lines. And, when viewed from the ground, the wingly army gave one an impression that the Holy Host had come for him.

But, on the other end of the spectrum, was the Midnight Kingdom that was home to the drow elves. Physically no different from their wingly cousins, the only thing that set the drow apart from their ancient enemies was the fact that they did not possess the angelic wings of their counterparts. Nor did any wingly in known history – save the rare half-breeds of the drow and winglies – have the ebony skin or the white hair. The drow were a beautiful and cruel race, and their homeland bore testament to that eternal fact. Stories of the Midnight Kingdom's raiding parties were legendary, and even now, every nation close to the Forsaken Lands where the Kingdom was located kept a well-armed garrison for such an eventuality. Swift guerrilla assaults that left their enemies almost no time to react; stealthy infiltrations; subtle traps; all of this was the trademark of the drow army. Marrying it to their advanced technology made the Midnight Kingdom a force to be reckoned with.

Galbadia had firm relations with both countries, and it was no secret that Galbadia's armies often had support elements of one or the other within its ranks. In return for military and technological support, Galbadia was the main exporter to both countries. For while many nations found it easier to deal with the winglies of the Archangel Duchy, few would ever want to sit on the same table with a drow representative when it came to negotiations. It was a challenge that appealed to the politicians of the Galbadian Senate.

_Brass balls and scheming that is a match for any devil. If there is anyone on Terra who can swindle a Daemon Prince out of throne and title, it will be the political elite of Galbadia, _Cid admitted grudgingly. In a way, the Midnight Kingdom's isolation from the rest of Terra was a weakness Galbadia made use of in their negotiations with the drow. The cunning drow soon found themselves unable to walk out of the alliance they had walked themselves in; the result probably evened out a dozen scores that numerous Barons of Hell held with the drow.

"I will consider it, Valkaze. Now, for the time being, I will need to ask you to gather more information. I am pulling Shiann out of the Archangel Duchy and having her join you in Galbadia. You, Shiann and Victor will be more than adequate to handle the task at hand."

Valkaze nodded, "I will report when I am able. For now, Victor and I will have to deal with current mission."

"Be careful."

"I intend to be. We're not the only Garden here," the young agent replied as he put on the cap of a CNN camera-crewman before terminating the connection. Cid sighed. Valkaze was a competent young man, if not more than just a little brusque. If he were not so fond of subtlety and moving in the shadows, he would have made a brilliant Strike Force Commander.

"Don't worry, Cid. That child is capable of taking care of himself."

Cid removed his glasses and pinched his eyes, "It's not him I'm worried about, Edea. It's the situation. It's fragile. At any moment, the entire region could go up in flames. Valkaze has already pointed out three potential threats. One is the Galbadian Senate. If they manage to oust Richter Deling from power, a regional conflict is most certainly imminent. The second is the Archangel Duchy south of the Galbadian continent. The thought of the Duchy trying to regain the lost glory of the Archangel Empire is something I really don't want to think about. The third potential threat may be Richter Deling himself. We've dealt with enough Delings to know they are _all_ power-hungry. But this Deling is one that makes me feel…uneasy."

"Why?"

"Because a wildcard holds the element of surprise. I've learnt long ago that a deadly threat comes from a place you least expect it to come. Despite the fight he has on his hands, this Deling is not going to be as stupid as his brother was. He knows there is no easy way out and it is one he cannot afford to lose. Men like this, driven into the corner, can prove to be surprisingly resourceful and cunning. Qualities that Richter Deling has in quantity."

_**The Midnight Kingdom, Obsidian Spire City, 1030 hrs**_

The Midnight Kingdom was situated in a region known as the Forsaken Lands, far to the north of the Galbadian continent, where the stormy waves of the Thunder Ocean met with the shores where the sun would never shine. It was the eternal testament of a curse from the Goddess Hyne upon the drow. Eternal darkness blanketed the continent and its surrounding islands for 200 nautical miles in every direction. In that darkness, the incestuous conflict between the drow noble Houses raged, ranging from subtle, political backstabbing to direct open war. They fought each other to either win the favour of the reigning Empress, or to take the throne from her. And, at the heart of the Midnight Kingdom was the capital city of Obsidian Spire, where the Imperial Palace was located.

It was here that Empress Faraesha Corusan, the 60th ruler of the Midnight Kingdom, gazed down upon the bustling streets of her capital. The clock tower that dominated the city like a black spire piercing the heavens showed that it was morning, and as such, the marketplace was rife with activity. The sharp eyes of the drow Empress could pick out two goblin slaves taking away the corpse of a storekeeper whose only crime had been to argue over the price of his goods. His customer's response had been a poisoned dagger. It would have been avoided had the storekeeper known when to remain silent. She chuckled. Perhaps the saying that silence was golden had value after all.

In a way, it had paved her way to becoming Empress. Faraesha had reigned over the Midnight Kingdom for over two centuries since she fought and defeated her mother in ritual combat. Her mother's dying act was to push the crown into her surviving daughter's hands, for she had proven herself the most ruthless and cunning of all her five sisters. Such was the law of the Midnight Kingdom – only the strong survive. It was a law the drow understood and respected and it was the only one they lived by. Which was why they had agreed to an alliance with Galbadia. There were qualities about Galbadia that she admired and which she found lacking in other _mon-keigh _nations. Ruthless, cunning and calculating, the Galbadian ruling elite were drow in human flesh, and Faraesha had no doubt that should she so much as pose a threat to them, she could very well find herself spitted upon the end of a SeeD assassin's blade.

The only complaint she – or her people – ever had about their alliance with Galbadia was the fact that they had made an alliance with the Midnight Kingdom's ancestral enemy, the Archangel Duchy. Many prominent nobles in the Kingdom had been virulently opposed to Galbadia's alliance with the Duchy and demanded Faraesha end the alliance almost before it came into full effect. Those nobles – and their families – were soon found dead. Likewise, the same punishment had been levied upon any wingly politician whose mouth was too big for his or her own good. The alliance would be forged and Galbadia _will __**NOT **_tolerate any opposition. In such a fashion, Galbadia won her admiration and respect in one swift stroke. But, at the same time, it made her cautious as well.

While Galbadia was technically the Kingdom's alliance, Faraesha knew that several of Galbadia's political factions within their Senate had alliances to the Kingdom's noble Houses who wanted to oust her. It would be to their enormous advantage if they managed to get a small SeeD strike force within the palace. The drow empress knew better than to tempt fate and had ensured that the Palace had a contingent of Garden Midnight SeeDs stationed there on permanent contract to counter any such attempts. And after the Ultimecia incident a year prior, she doubled the palace guard and increased the number of her incubi bodyguards. It had been troublesome squelching the rumours of her being afraid of assassination, but the noble Houses, remembering how their rivals were assassinated, started to see reason and followed her lead. Now, it was only a question of whose hired assassins were better and whose defences were found lacking. A question the empress was determined not to answer.

The only time the Midnight Kingdom actually severed the alliance with Galbadia was during the reign of President Vinzer Deling. It did not surprise her that the Archangel Duchy did the same. Which fool would surrender the reins and the destiny of their entire nation to another? Even the majority of the other _mon-keigh _nations that Faraesha held in contempt could be that stupid – or that unbelievably gullible. Which was why the empress had sent a representative from the House Shaladrin two months after the new president was inaugurated. She had wanted to know if the younger brother of Vinzer was as stupid as his older brother. If he had been, the Midnight Kingdom would ensure that the alliance remained severed – even if it cost the Kingdom a valuable ally. Thankfully, he wasn't.

Salvanna of House Shaladrin, the representative Faraesha had sent had given her reports that the new president was no fool, but had told her the man had a mess to clean up. Faraesha had instructed Salvanna to give the new president whatever support was necessary. At least, dealing with this Deling was far more palatable than dealing with the fool the Daughter of Hyne had killed.

Ambition was the only similarity between Vinzer and his younger brother. The greatest difference was how each went about accomplishing it. Vinzer would often choose the easier method without a second thought. Richter Deling, however, would carefully consider the pros and cons of such a move. If a harder route presented less trouble in the future, then so be it. The sacrifices made towards the end would be justified. Vinzer was no war-leader, but his brother Richter had honed both his political abilities and military skills when he had been a governor of a Galbadian-held province on Eidolon Prime, the fourth planet in the system. His unpredictability marked him as a master strategist, and even pirates and nearby provinces knew better than to antagonise him. The Dollet Dukedom from Richter's reputation that it now had to contend with a man whose unpredictability was far more dangerous than Vinzer's tenacity. Though no match for Galbadia's premier warmaster, General Caraway, Richter was nevertheless a competent war-leader.

Sharing power with a man like Richter was pleasant in the fact that it would be in the hands of one who was both neither stupid nor careless. She looked at the clock hanging over the fireplace. The Senate meeting would start in five hours time.

_**Galbadian Senatorial Parliament Building 1430 hrs**_

Valkaze Stormguard of Garden Balamb pulled out a jacket and nodded to his partner, Victor Ashwick It had taken some of Victor's computer skills to hack into one of the most well-known news networks and the calling in of some favours, but it had been worth it. Both of them were, for now, employees in the news giant, CNN, and one of his friends – Laura Sheffield – in the network had been given the assignment to cover the Senatorial meeting. The three of them made their way towards the enormous edifice that was the Parliament Building with dozens of other reporters from other networks.

Victor whistled softly, "Damn. What is this place? Castle Sangelman?"

Valkaze was inclined to agree with the comparison to the Dominion's fortress province that guarded its capital province. There were scores of soldiers and policemen patrolling the streets, and there were dozens of sandbagged security checkpoints. Valkaze had counted almost close to two dozen APCs, mostly Chimera-class, but with Rhinos and Razorbacks thrown in. The Galbadian Parliament building was a fortress in itself. Around it, a small squadron of Goliath battlemechs stood vigilantly, watching the skies for any aerial threat. Three Hydra-class tanks doubled as heavy support and anti-air support. The Galbadian security chief was no idiot. This was a golden opportunity for Galbadia's enemies to really take the proverbial knife to the snake's head. To the hand that wielded the knife, Valkaze could name several, but could only pull out one that had the power and the contacts to carry out an operation of that magnitude.

Balamb Garden's Intelligence branch stated it in their report that there might well be a Dollet splinter cell inside Deling City itself and that its command core was controlling and aiding all the rest. They were good, he knew, for being able to elude the Galbadian Internal Security Bureau for as long as they have. Valkaze had put his ear to the ground and found that the cell was larger than he originally thought, and that he knew some members within the cell from the time he had been deployed in Dollet.

Valkaze hoped he would not be assigned to take down the splinter cell, but would have no choice if Balamb Garden accepted the contract. He had taken down a Darmenian terrorist organisation before, and it hadn't been pretty. It had been a surgical strike designed to take out its command staff. It almost went wrong. The strike force Valkaze had been in was been badly outnumbered, and when their reserves came into the fray, they had been pinned down almost immediately. That was when the other SeeD strike force was deployed into the combat zone. In twenty minutes, they left nothing but dead bodies and wrecked Goliath battlemechs. The last SeeD force deployed had come from Garden Falaris from the Black Empire of Ekyolan-Falaria. During that operation, Valkaze saw the reason why the Dark Templars had acquired such a fearsome reputation. SeeDs were regarded as the Angels of the Crimson Rider, but the Dark Templars fell under the shadow of the Pale Rider.

The final exams in Garden Falaris were known to be the harshest of the entire SeeD organisation and the morality rate was set at a grim 60. That meant six in ten never survive the final test. While it causes the Strike Forces deployed by the Garden to be less than what its fellows send out, its operatives were very well trained. Each Dark Templar had a breadth of experience and skill matched only by veteran SeeDs. If their Strike Forces had been larger, they would never utilise swift surgical strikes that were their _modus operanti_. It was an unnerving thought.

"Oy! Val! Snap out of it!"

"H-Huh? Wha-?"

Valkaze noticed that Victor was snapping his fingers in front of his face, and that Laura was looking at him in mild amusement. The Galbadian sergeant glared at Valkaze, irritation in his gaze, before he repeated the question for what seemed to be the umpteenth time, "May I see your ID, please…?"

_Before I shoot you_, Valkaze finished the sergeant mentally, shooting the latter an apologetic grin.

The ambassador of the Archangel Duchy looked through his notes quietly, ruffling his angelic wings as a matter of habit, a fact known by his trusted human retainer that drove the car that his master was disturbed. The wingly ambassador was a handsome man still who had the physical outlook of a man in his late forties. Only the heavy gaze and the quiet air told any onlooker who cared to look at the man long enough would know instinctively that the ambassador had been a soldier once before. And, in most parts, had they asked, the ambassador would not deny the fact. Which one, they would most likely ask afterwards, and the ambassador would merely smile and say several, the last one being the only one to have him come out of retirement to aid in the defense of his homeland against Ishtar's daemon-possessed Emperor. What he would never tell them was that he was one of the few left alive who bore witness to the one war that had shaken Terra to its very foundations.

Those days haunted the ambassador – an ex-soldier – to this very day long, long after it had ended. The rest of his people had been content to watch the _mon-keigh_ and their lesser cousins, the drow, fight each other, hoping that they would weaken each other enough for the winglies to eventually overcome them all and restore the glory of the Holy Wingly Empire. Once upon a time, he would have agreed with them. But after that war, after what he had seen and learnt, Lord Amaleth Starfire could no longer agree with his brethren. Not after he had seen the price exacted upon every other nation on Terra.

War was a lesson whose words were written in blood and tears, and whose voice were the screams of rage and the sounds of gunfire. It was written in a book thick with the names of the fallen. And, it was a lesson that had yet to end. Why? There were many answers. Amaleth's long dead comrade-in-arms had once told him that it was in man's nature to fight. No one – not even the purest hearted of the Angel Lords – had been immune to the one flaw that afflicted all of Creation. It had seen to the exile of the Angel Lords and their Daemon Prince counterparts to the mortal plane during the fabled Age of Chaos.

Even so, the world did not change – not before or after the Age of Chaos.

The ambassador raised his head, catching sight of the bipedal Goliath battlemechs that stood guard around the Parliament Building. No, perhaps it was more proper to say that the people never changed. His hovercar and his escort came to a halt as they stopped before a barricade guarded by two squads of Galbadian soldiers and a Chimera APC. A Galbadian lieutenant stepped forward as Amaleth lowered the window of his hovercar. The man touched his helmet briefly in salute, "I'm sorry, Lord Amaleth, but can you please exit the car? And have your escort dismount as well?"

"This is very tight security, lieutenant."

"I understand, my lord. Forgive us for this indignity, but we have our orders."

"As is always the case. Stuck to doing the dirty work while the guys upstairs warm their backsides, eh?"

The man grinned, even so, as Amaleth waved a hand, "Don't let me stop you, lieutenant."

"Thanks."

It took a brief moment for the soldiers accompanying the lieutenant to sweep their scanners across their vehicles and inspect the readings before turning them on their drivers. One of them, a sergeant, said, "All clear, boss. They're clean."

The lieutenant nodded, "Clear the way, sergeant," and to Lord Amaleth, Thank you, my lord, for your patience."

As they drove past the barricade, Amaleth chuckled, "Your face was the epitome of outrage, old friend. If it had turned any redder, I'd swear I would have seen steam coming out your ears."

Even though his retainer was not facing him, Amaleth knew that the human man was scowling, "You wouldn't find it so funny if the whole lot of them had been glaring at you and daring you to do something Squall Leonhart would have done. That one looked at my bionic arm as though I had a bolt pistol mounted on it!"

Amaleth chuckled again. Even though his retainer had been out of the military for over a decade, he still had that air about him that made most soldiers stand on edge. His bionic arm had not made matters any better. The ambassador turned his eyes towards the portico of the Parliament Building where the Sorceress Ultimecia had addressed an entire crowd. Unlike drow or winglies, humans lacked the magical resistance that was the Goddess's gift to their races, and they felt the prickling feeling of a Presence enchantment. Even though her words held the promise of devastation not seen ever since the end of the First Usurpation War, the crowd had been blinded by her blinding presence. There, he would bear witness to the first time that a SeeD betray his own. For the Sorceress's Knight had been Seifer Almasy, elevated to Lord Commander of Galbadia's armies when Ultimecia consolidated her hold on Galbadia. He had once been the rival – and friend – of the same man who attempted a daring assassination attempt in the face of an army and a Daughter of the Goddess. Most would term it suicidal bravery – but not Amaleth. He'd seen enough of these acts to know that it had been an all-or-nothing gamble.

And, where he was going, he was going to take the same gamble with albeit the same amount of risk. What he was going to do was going to infuriate many people back in his homeland and may well sour relationships between Galbadia and the Archangel Duchy. He knew from the reports gathered that the Deling Family had lost much support and were clinging to power only by the tiniest of margins. While Amaleth disliked dealing with the Deling family, he found it more preferable to deal with them than the figurehead leaders that Galbadia's political factions would put in the Delings' place.

But, if Galbadia's president lost his grasp on power, that just might happen. Today's Senate Meeting might be the new president's first and last if he was not careful with what he said. Richter Deling has a hard fight ahead of him. He had to rein in the ambitions of the political factions as well as assure the public that he was not going to almost wreck Galbadia as his brother had.

"This is not going to be easy," his chauffeur and retainer spoke up as he drove the car towards the main porch of the building.

"Has it ever been, Sarles? I'm doing what is right for both Galbadia and my homeland, though why I care so much for the first is beyond me."

"The reason is obvious, Amaleth," his trusted retainer replied, as they turned into the porch, "Both of us have seen the mistakes that led to us outliving people better than we are. As long as we're alive, we make our penance by ensuring that they do not happen again."

_Penance? Yes, I suppose it is. _

"Oh, Amaleth. Good luck."

Amaleth heard a tone of annoyance in Sarles's voice that made the ambassador look up. His retainer nodded pointedly in another direction, and the wingly ambassador's thoughtful expression shifted to one of disgust.

"Oh no."

"Oh yes," Sarles deadpanned back.

Stepping haughtily out of another hovercar was the Lady Salvanna Shaladrin, the drow ambassador of the Midnight Kingdom to Galbadia. She was clad in her crimson uniform and lined in ornate scrollwork upon her breast was the sigil of her House. Ebony skinned like all her kindred with snowy white hair, Salvanna's beauty was a façade that hid the cruel spirit beneath. Amaleth often wondered why Galbadia had chosen to ally itself with the capricious Drow Empire, a question that was no doubt reflected in the mind of the drow. The drow were untrustworthy creatures, Amaleth knew. Legend had it that the drow were fallen winglies, punished by the wingly Angel Lord Archangel for their insurrection to put the Angel Lord's nemesis, Shal'vanar, in his place.

But, even so, Amaleth knew from experience that the drow can prove to be just as stalwart allies as they can be implacable enemies. Unfortunately, Salvanna was not the former. He rubbed his temple. This meeting was going to be a long one. The drow, even so, have always been trouble.


	5. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3: A gathering**_

_**17**__**th**__** July 4051, Battlecruiser Stormfury, approaching Deling City, 1515 hrs**_

Richter Deling was a man harassed.

Perhaps harassed was the understatement of the century for a man who was supposed to clean up a mess that he did not create. If the new incumbent president were to compile a list of the problems he was going to have to solve when he returned to the capital, he would not be leaving the confines of the presidential palace for the next decade! No one wanted to clean up another's mess, but unfortunately, Richter did not have much of a choice. Even dead, Vinzer still had to have someone clean up the mess he made! Till the moment he died, Richter thought in disgust, he never changed. Though he wanted to hate Squall Leonhart for partaking in the missions that led to his brother's death, he found that there was little he could fault the SeeD commander for. Vinzer had already dug his own grave – sooner or later, he would have had to fill it, whether by Squall's hand or by the Sorceress's.

While Richter could not fault his elder brother for an ambition he himself harboured, he had plenty to say about how he went about fulfilling it. He had been horrified when his contacts within the political elite informed him of Vinzer's decision to turn Galbadia over to the Sorceress. It was a decision heartily supported by the people under the miasma of the Sorceress's enchantment. It was simply a matter of pushing blame when they discovered that the mistake they made of trusting Ultimecia had been a colossal one. It was a bitter truth to any national leader that when there were enough voices stating one fact, people started believing it. Now, he would have to keep Galbadia from descending into chaos.

And Vinzer did not intend to fail. He would deal with the Senate and the people decisively. When the storm passed over, then would he be able to undertake the task of making Galbadia a superpower. That is, providing the storm did not sweep him off his feet first.

"Sir," a voice spoke, breaking the Galbadian president-elect from his thoughts, "we're now approaching Deling City." The president nodded as his flagship came in sight of the Galbadian capital city. Richter Deling's flagship, the Stormfury, was massive and could be easily considered a carrier if it had not been for the fact it was based around the Iron Duke-class battleship template. The Stormfury had been built almost eight years ago in the orbital shipyards of Eidolon Prime, based on precious pre-Usurpation War SCT templates that Galbadia possessed. The Chief Technicians had spent three of those years altering the Template so that the Stormfury could bring a Yamato cannon into the fray along with the formidable ship-killer plasma cannons it mounted originally. Around his ship, the slightly smaller Behemoth-class battleships and Valkyrie missile frigates escorted them to the military starport on the outskirts of the city.

A red-haired man clad in the uniform of a Galbadian Fleet Admiral stepped up next to the Galbadian president, his voice jolting the latter out of his thoughts, "Today's meeting will be important, Rick. We've done what we can to secure Galbadia's position off world; now, we must ensure that we don't lose our footing on Galbadia itself. Don't think about how to continue your brother's ambition."

"I know, Douglas. I _am_ thinking about how to keep our homeland from crumbling about our ears. Just like my brother to leave me a mess to clean up when he created it. What my father saw in Vinzer to make him president is beyond me."

"He paid for it."

"Indeed. Now, _**I'm **_paying for his mess."

"Complaining is not going to get you anywhere."

"Oh, shut up. You're not the one having to deal with this. I am. And thus, I have earned the right to grumble."

"True. But, that doesn't mean I have to like it."

Richter scowled at his childhood friend. Despite his impassive face, Richter knew that his friend was laughing. His eyes said it all. Douglas Wind had been Richter's best friend throughout the thirty years they had been together. Both had graduated from Andosian Federation's prestigious University of Andosia fighting each other. Each of them complemented the other and Richter had gone far enough to admit that he would have stumbled many times over if not for the red-haired Admiral. Douglas was a professional soldier, and despite the uniform he wore, it was barren of any of the medals most Galbadian officers loved to display on their person. Only his epaulettes and demeanour told every crewman and marine on board the ship that he was in charge. Douglas was not the sort of man to sit behind a desk and tell his people to do his fighting for him. The well-worn weapons he carried had faced down every adversary from drow raider to SeeD operatives. Douglas had also ensured that his friend and future president was not only a politician, but a capable general as well. If negotiations failed, Richter could rely on his military abilities instead of entrusting it to someone else.

"I'd still need you to watch my back and give me advice, Doug. This is going to be a minefield."

"That is something I knew long before we came here. You sure it's not in our best interest to simply level the damn Parliament Building? It would most certainly save us a headache the size of Terra."

"Tempting, but imprudent. The Senate has its uses – and I want to show the people that I am not my brother."

"Good luck."

"I'll need a lot of it."

"That's one big ship, Seifer," remarked Raijin as he stared at the massive battlecruiser that sailed in the direction of the starport, "And it's _Stormfury_, Richter Deling's ship."

Seifer Almasy, former SeeD, Sorceress's Knight, stared at the magnificent battlecruiser that hovered over the city, casting a great shadow across several buildings. It was the symbol of Galbadia's might, still nearly unbroken after Ultimecia and Vinzer Deling. Galbadia's military arm was still strong due to General Caraway, and the general was too loyal to betray his country or the Deling Family. Good man, but his loyalties definitely needed a reality check. So did he. Seifer stared at his posse. Raijin was as he always had been. Boisterous, noisy and more than just a little irritating. And Fuujin stood as she always did, her one eye staring at the Behemoth battlecruiser, her short silver hair still shining despite the shadows.

"BIG."

Typical of Fuujin. Only one word answers with a full stop.

"That it is, Fuji girl."

Seifer did not care a hoot on Galbadian politics nor the Deling Family, or for anything for that matter. He had been a SeeD aspirant once before, with a girl he was willing to share his life with before she chose another. And it was his arch-rival, to make matters worse. He traced the scar on his forehead, knowing that his rival also wore a mirroring scar. Squall Leonheart. He remembered the cold eyes that had the intensity of a harsh winter storm. Rinoa had tried, and had successfully, when even the chicken-wuss (Zell) and the cowboy had failed, to make him smile. She made him feel, breaking through the wall of ice and silence around him. But, Squall is Squall. His name held the elemental fury that no angel could tame nor whose darkness she could exorcise. Calm the storm with her presence, yes, but its dark clouds will always be there, though its menace would have faded in her presence.

Seifer had been there beside Squall at the eye of the storm a year ago. He stroked Hyperion gently, remembering when he had turned his gunblade against the Sorceress Ultimecia and the host of creatures she summoned out of Hell. He remembered dancing amidst their claws, spilling blood, all the while wanting Ultimecia's for using him as a piece in her cruel game. He was there to pay her out for making a pawn out of him - for using his dreams against him. If he had been a traitor before, he would have redeemed himself before the eyes of his friends - and his one enemy who did not want to see him fall from grace.

He shuddered inwardly, though his arrogant facade outside did not show it. Sometimes, he could remember the cruel smile of the Sorceress, mocking him. He remembered her last words, haunting, damning and accusatory. In her eyes, her Knight was no better than she.

_You are no better than I, my failed Knight. You and I traded everything for a victory we can never…ever… have. _

_Who is the one who was blinder? The one who led? Or the one who followed?_

_Perhaps, one day, you will… have your victory. But, in the… end, you will ask…if it had been…worth it…_

The mocking light and voice in Seifer's mind faded as Squall impaled the Sorceress to her throne. Her strangled cry was one Seifer would never forget. If pain had a sound, Ultimecia's dying scream would be it. Heartbreak and disappointment laced that cry; it was enough to tell everyone that the Sorceress had surrendered herself to Evil in exchange for the one victory that would alter the course of history. A victory Squall took from her with one stroke of his blade. A victory that the Sorceress could not have no matter how many times she tried.

But, somehow, Seifer felt uneasy.

It was not over yet.

The play that Ultimecia wrote was only the beginning; that her death was but the prelude of what was to come. The first act had yet to come to an end.

It was as though the cogs of some great wheel had been set in motion.

He smiled. How it would end, Seifer was determined it end in his favour.

Seifer's golden hair ruffled in the wind that passed as the massive battlecruiser passed over him and his posse. "We're going. Let's go," Seifer said as he strode down the alley. The roar of the thrusters had, however, drowned out his voice. Snorting, Seifer strode off, and it was only moments later that the alert Fuujin, seeing Seifer stride off on his own, pulled Raijin along. He did not respond. She pulled his ear hard and strode off after Seifer, the bigger man's squeals of pain deafened by the battlecruiser's engines.

_**Estharian Presidential Palace**_

President Laguna Loire watched the screen silently, his fingers crossed before him as he watched the holo-vid where a Continental News Reporter – Laura Sheffield – was speaking into the VS camera. "I have just heard that the flagship of President Richter Deling, the Stormfury, has just landed at the military starport at the outskirts of Deling City. The senatorial meeting held today, scheduled at 1600 hrs, will decide – possibly – the fate of Galbadia and its ruling family."

Laguna turned to face his two aides that stood beside him.

"One year. One year since Ultimecia and the Galbadian senate decides to throw dynamite on an already leaky boat. Goes to show that subtlety was never their strong point. Richter may be no different from his brother – but he's not stupid. He won't try something like this. If Richter had been the one Ultimecia had bargained with, she would not have found it so easy to take over Galbadia."

"The Senate is rocking the boat, and as the Deling family has lost much support for the fiasco last year, they want to pull the rug from under them totally. Added to the fact that the public is not happy with the Deling family either, and Richter has enough trouble to keep him busy for a very long time."

"True."

If the problems posed at home was not enough, he had to deal with the fact that the Forest Owl guerrillas in Timber – annexed during the reign of Vinzer Deling – had stepped up guerrila assaults upon Galbadia's military convoys and outposts. General Caraway ordered that a major garrison be sent several months earlier, and the presence of a newly constructed provincial fortress was going to make the task of liberating the conquered province all the more difficult. The Forest Owls were well equipped and mobile, but they did not have the strength or numbers to cripple the Galbadian military behemoth. It was only a matter of time before Galbadia would deal with them.

Looking back at the holo-vid, Laguna asked, "How is Galbadia's military strength?"

This question was one Ward answered, "As strong as ever, if not stronger. Richter was no doubt preparing for something like this; he has the armies of Galbadia's off world colonies to bolster the home guard – and he's had over ten years to prepare. Added to the fact that when Galbadia went under the Sorceress's control, Richter expanded the colonial armies to prevent any insurrection."

"That means they can go to war anytime they want to."

Kiros, the other aide besides Ward, nodded, "But that is if – and I emphasise if – they want to."

"True. Economically and militarily, Galbadia is secure. Richter spent the first year in office seeing to that. Socially and politically, I cannot say the same."

Laguna's lips became a straight line, and he lowered his head, allowing his bangs to fall upon the same blue-grey eyes he shared with the son who would never regard him as his father. Looking into the mirror was a daily reminder of his mistake made flesh. A wrong Laguna would give much to right. Ellone – the stepdaughter he had adopted and was later kidnapped by the Sorceress Adel of Esthar – had grown up into a fine young woman. Squall, deprived of the same fatherly love lavished upon Ellone, became his namesake. Even then, his son had done well without anyone needing to guide him.

Most fathers would blanch at the thought of having _any_ of their children within the SeeD not organisation, but not Laguna. He knew better than to tell Squall to leave the organisation. No one – not him, not Raine, not the Goddess Hyne Herself – could make Squall change his mind once he had made it up. He had inherited that stubbornness, no doubt, from his late wife, Raine. He smiled at the memory, but it fell away in the face of the situation that was on his lap. He turned towards Kiros and Ward, "Guys, put our boys and girls on silent alert – level 2. Kiros, have Intelligence keep a close eye on Galbadia. If they so much as sneeze across the Balamb Straits, I _want_ to know."

"You got it, boss."

_**Galbadian Parliament Building temporary quarters**_

Lord Amaleth watched the proceedings from the window, as Sarles put down a tray on the mahogany table. The temporary quarters were well-furnished, and the walls held intricate curling designs that bloomed into flower petals. "So, the Ishtarian ambassador is here, also," Amaleth said as his wings ruffled in annoyance. Lady Odessa Silverberg was a second Salvanna.

"The meeting will begin, soon, Amaleth," said Sarles.

Within four walls, Sarles and Amaleth often enjoyed informal conversations, and the latter would always ask the former about decisions and ways to remedy errors. What Amaleth was about to do today would have very dire consequences. Contrary to public belief that Winglies disliked war, Amaleth had started seeing changes in his homeland that disturbed him. Amaleth was one of the few of his people - of a handful - who had seen the devastation of the Usurpation War 500 years before and had witnessed first-hand the death of many heroes, of many great men and women who fought and died for what they believed in. He still remembered mobile suits fighting desperately against gigantic titans - machine gods of unimaginable power and weaponry - when the Archduchy of Zeon and the Empire of Ekyolan-Falaria fought hard to maintain its independence from the Imperial Dominion. Amaleth and several of his comrades within the Wingly Imperial Army left their homeland to fight another man's – or more appropriately, another race's – war.

He had been young, then, perhaps a century and a decade old when he left. He had been full of idealism and romantic notions. What he saw would be the stuff of nightmares for the rest of his life, and the scars on his body proved to him that those dreams had been real long ago. SeeD had fought SeeD, sundering the brotherhood when Terra tore itself apart in a bloody war, and the Knightly Orders of the Dominion fought the Black Guards of the Ekyolan-Falaria. It had been the first time that the SeeD organisation polarised between those who had been contracted to the Imperial Dominion and those who stood either with Zeon or Ekyolan-Falaria. The official records of those that had died in the First Usurpation War were but an _**estimate**_of the numbers that had perished. But, even so, the estimate was more than enough to horrify anyone.

_We went to war so that others will not have to. It is the prayer of soldiers who have yet to lose his or her humanity that in the end no one sees what they have. Arrogant and naïve perhaps as the truth is far more disappointing…and so very obvious. _

Sarles said the same last words that Amaleth's human friend from the Usurpation War, Thorne, had spoken when Amaleth had dragged his burnt, bleeding and broken body out of his Hellcat battlemech. The ace pilot of the Dominion's rebel faction taken down in such an ignominious fashion was a painful memory. He could remember the sweet smell the sweet smell of Thorne's burnt flesh and the horrific injuries that guaranteed a slow but painful death. He remembered Garett's hardened face as he administered the _Prex de_ _Celeris Mortis_ or the Prayer of Swift Death amidst Amaleth's pleading. The bark of Garett's bolt pistol and Thorne's body finally falling limp in his arms was a memory gouged into his mind as well as the tears that fell down the man's ash-covered face. It would take Amaleth years to understand why Garett performed the mercy killing, and when he did, it was not a realisation that brought him any comfort.

_The only mercy that can be given on the battlefield is a swift death._

"I know, Sarles."

"Go with it, Amaleth. Despite the fact that this will almost certainly anger the Council back in the Duchy, it _is_ the right thing to do. But, before you go about doing this, it is advisable to listen to what everyone in the Parliament has to say. Then, you make your move. The Galbadian president is in a hard place and trying to strike a balance between the Senate and the people will not be easy."

"I hear you."

"And, remember not to let Salvanna or Odessa get to you. The last thing you want to do is embarrass yourself in front of so many people!" Sarles added with a grin.

Amaleth face-faulted then, and he scowled at his retainer," Clearly, I will never hear the end of that, will I?"

_**Parliament Building helipad, 1550 hrs**_

Richter Deling arrived at the Parliament Building via a Thunderhawk Gunship with his bodyguards and his aide. From the air, the massive Building was enormous. In times of war, the Parliament Building doubled as Galbadia's secondary Headquarters for the military should the capital itself come under siege. And that only happened once during the First Usurpation War five centuries ago; those days had left more than half the city turned into rubble. It was also the same place where his elder brother made his last mistake. And it was up to him to ensure that no more mistakes of that magnitude happened again.

The gunship landed on one of the Building's many helipads before the Thunderhawk's pilot cut the screaming engines and lowered the front ramp. Richter's stormtrooper bodyguards strode out first before Richter and Douglas followed them into the warm afternoon sun. A cursory look around told Richter that the Parliament Building's security was very tight. Power-suited marines, stormtroopers and security forces were everywhere. A full MS company was on standby. It was clear that General Caraway was taking no chances whatsoever. Galbadia had made her fair share of enemies in its goal to become a superpower. A competent man and loyal man, that general. It was no secret that General Caraway was one of Terra's premier Warmasters and was well-loved amongst the rank and file of the Armed Forces of Galbadia. Not even the Sorceress had dared to dismiss Caraway from his position; to do so was to risk a mutiny in the Armed Forces.

And he was also one of the major obstacles that Richter Deling had to overcome. He knew that General Caraway, after the disastrous reign of his brother and having Galbadia under Ultimecia's thumb, would be very unforgiving of any mistakes that would jeopardise the safety of his homeland. He supported the Senate's policy of expansion and understood their reasoning. If only Jacobus Peterson had been Supreme Commander of Galbadia's Combined Armed Forces, it would save Richter months of headache. The man, though ambitious, shared the same dream as Richter did to make Galbadia great. Unfortunately, the man's influence in the Armed Forces was limited.Also, Richter understood that public sentiment was against his family. Making an ill-advised move, and the social stability of Galbadia – already shaky – would deteriorate further.

Douglas, striding by his side, stony-faced as ever, had advised Richter against taking any aggressive actions when they left the starport. The objective now was to gain some time to manoeuvre and not make any rash moves. Even before the meeting started, Douglas was planning several moves ahead. That stone face said it all.

Richter scowled inwardly, _I hate it when that stone-faced son of a bitch is right. 'Don't do anything stupid or rash,' he says. I am oh-so-tempted to let him do the talking…_

…and Richter sighed. There was no use complaining. He had been around Douglas long enough to know that his advice was often sound and logical. No gut feelings and hunches. Everything was based on gathered intelligence and logical assumptions. Douglas was a man who made his own luck. From childhood, it had been clearly evident in the Admiral.

"I don't think we can win Caraway over. Not now, anyway," Douglas said.

"Did you just realise that?"

"Not exactly."

"Then?"

"Were you thinking about replacing him?"

Richter scowled, "I'm not that crazy. I'll not risk a mutiny. Only if he leaves with consent would I be spared one."

"At least you know that."

"I've always known that. As did my brother, thank Hyne. That was the only intelligent choice he made so far."

"True. But you'll need his support if you want to pursue the expansionist policy that the Senate is advocating. And you'll need to tell the people the reason why – and it had _**better**_ be a good reason."

"Any suggestions?"

"Think like a drow. Or did Salvanna waste her time on you and teach you…other things?"

Richter flushed – half in embarrassment and half in anger – at the hidden meaning behind his friend's words. Douglas had the grace to cover his mouth, though his sides were shaking. His bodyguards were struggling not to giggle. For one brief moment, the president of Galbadia was no different from a teenage boy caught in the act of kissing his girlfriend. "Thanks a lot, idiot," Richter scowled, "Now it'll be known throughout Galbadia."

"You're welcome."

"I should have made you suck vacuum when we left Eidolon Prime."

Douglas's only response was to grin. But, in any case, he had brought up a very good suggestion. Think like a drow. Salvanna's voice whispered in Richter's mind, _'When the opposition against you is overwhelming, never face it head-on. You will not last out the battle. Instead, be mobile and swift. Change your stance and tactics to the situation. Create that opening. Each move must be one that cripples your adversary and hinders his movements. Killing him in one swift stroke is not always the best move even if it is the quickest. You can still kill him by a thousand cuts.'_

Create an opening?

Richter thought carefully. Yes, he could do that. He could create that opening. There were three ways to bring the Armed Forces under his control. One was to replace the General, which was out of the question. The second was to assume command of the entirety of the Galbadian military juggernaut – and this was something Richter dearly loved to avoid. The third option was the most viable, and perhaps the most logical. He could force Caraway to react. It was no secret that the general loves his only daughter, despite the fact that he does not show it. If Rinoa Heartilly was killed, Richter could easily pin the blame on another country. That would cause Caraway and the public to realise that while the government was struggling to rebuild, there were external enemies that were determined to make Galbadia pay while the country was on its knees. It would kill two birds with one stone – perfect!

There was, however, a fourth alternative that would allow Galbadia to accomplish its ambition of greatness, regardless of whether or not Richter had the Warmaster's support. Galbadia would have to acquire technological templates lost during the Usurpation War. As it is, the country that had the most pre-Usurpation War SCT templates could easily take a place amongst the superpowers. It would drain the resources of Galbadia, though, but the end justified the means. Much of Terra would fall under the dominion of Galbadia as a result. Even so, such grand plans required patience, manpower and allies.

Richter chuckled to himself when he thought about the third alternative. He had been around Ambassador Salvanna of the Midnight Kingdom for too long. Her cruel, drow ways were starting to rub off on him. Some methods she taught him were morally questionable and some were outright inhuman. She taught him all this with one lesson in mind – the end justifies the means. Richter came to a stop before the gold-inlaid doors that led to the Parliament's meeting Hall, preparing himself for the storm that would soon wash over him. Salvanna, without question, would be inside. As would Amaleth of the Archangel Duchy, though those two would sit _far, far _away from each other. Ishtar's ambassador, Odessa Silverberg would be here also. Valiant Morrowind of Aphrodia, likewise, would be there – and like Amaleth, he would be sitting far away from Odessa. There were delegates from Balamb, from Esthar and Trabia, from the nearby Andosian Federation and the states of Kuruda. Enemies and allies, all in one room, all in one room, all listening and weighing his words. The only representative that would not be attending would be Dollet's. Not surprising as there was an ongoing war between Galbadia and the Dollet Dukedom.

The Galbadian president put one gloved hand and pinched his eyes. _All right, this is it!_ the president thought, _Today promises to be one long day! But, be patient, Richter, and remember what Douglas told you. In time, you can reap a great harvest for future generations of Galbadia._

And if things went his way, the children he would someday bring into the world would inherit a great empire free of war and strife. Future generations in Galbadia would praise the name of the Deling Family and stand proud, knowing that the sacrifice of their forefathers had not been in vain. He would have earned his name and a place in the pages of Terra's history.

Richter looked at his watch and took one last deep breath.

1600 hrs. _Well,_ Richter thought, _a gentleman should not be late. _And pushed the doors open.

_**Parliament Building Meeting Hall, 1600 hrs**_

Salvanna Shaladrin sat at her designated seat within the Parliament's meeting hall. The drow woman had been in the crowded theatre for 45 minutes. There were delegates from neighbouring countries as well as the provincial governors of Galbadia's 23 provinces. Also present, she noted, were the military leaders of Galbadia as well as the governors of Galbadia's off world territories. Looking at the _mon-keigh_ made it impossible for Salvanna not to sneer in contempt. While Salvanna understood the concept of strength in numbers, the thought of three of the Galbadian Parliaments' most powerful political factions against the Deling loyalists put a sour taste in her mouth. Most politicians with common sense would back down in the face of such united opposition, but not Richter. He would not surrender power or country without bloodying the nose of the opposition in the process. If it were up to her to relegate punishment to some of these overweight swine, Salvanna would have surrendered them to the tender mercies of the Haemonculi, the torturers of her homeland. Especially that wingly bastard who was sitting far, far away from her and speaking with the _mon-keigh_ representatives from nearby nations

Shaking her head in contempt, the drow woman sank into her thoughts, looking down at the leather folder with the golden-and-bronze Galbadian emblem. Had she overestimated Richter when she first met him? He had proven himself competent and strong; it showed in the fact that he managed to keep Galbadia's off world colonies and territories from becoming independent nations. Even so, the massed opposition he was facing down now had put Richter Deling in a difficult position. He was, in every sense of the word, caught between a rock and a hard place. The rock was the Senate; the hard place was the trust of the citizens of Galbadia. The former saw a chance to turn the Deling Family into a figurehead ruler while advancing their own agenda. The latter had lost much faith in their rulers and any decisions made by the government would most likely not have the support of the people. Galbadia could ill-afford a civilian revolt at this time.

A situation made by the incompetence and stupidity of his elder brother. Fortunately, Vinzer was already dead, murdered by the Sorceress when the latter had finally consolidated her power enough to control the nation as she wished. The fool got what he deserved for heeding her rosy-whispered lies! Even if Ultimecia had kept her end of the bargain, Terra would be a charred wreck of a nightmare not worth ruling over when she was through with it!

Richter was fully aware of all of it, he had told her earlier this year, and it intrigued Salvanna to what the newly elevated president of Galbadia was planning. She knew that he had several trump cards up his sleeve to put into play if necessary. Drow were bred to brutal power politics, but the Galbadian politicians have refined it into an art. Richter was no exception, but the main difference was that he had been receptive to her methods. Most politicians of Galbadia would not even listen to her suggestions, knowing all too well that public opinion could well force them to leave office. Richter had smiled that cruel, knowing smile when he listened to her ideas and the sight of it warmed her heart. Power politics was a brutal game, one that Richter had proven adept at playing. Intelligent, strong AND cunning – a combination that would interest any power-hungry drow woman in more ways than one.

Today would prove to be Richter's hardest test yet.

_The strong shall live, but the weak shall perish. Strength governs the right to rule. The weak shall be trampled, and the strong shall stand atop the broken bodies of his enemies. And strength is not always governed by strength of arm alone, admirable as it may be, but of cunning and intelligence. Lack one, and you are still lacking - and you will die because of your weakness._

The words of her homeland's reigning Empress echoed in her mind. A harsh truth that was the indoctrination to the drow race as a whole – whether they lived within the Forsaken Lands or outside of it.

The _mon-keigh_, like their ancestral enemies, the winglies, had very long memories. Drow were not universally loved for their piratical history in the early days of Terra and because of that, had remained isolated for many centuries. Because of this, Empress Faraesha had instructed Salvanna to push Galbadia to accept the expansionist policy advocated by the Senate.

The Empress had reasoned that to a country like Galbadia, peace was something it could not countenance. Its people may have felt the blow that brought them to their knees, but they would not be on their knees for long. Though a dictatorship, its greatness and dynamism was built upon a shared ambition to be a nation comparable to Esthar or the Imperial Dominion. If they lost that edge and fire that its people believed made them unique, and had spurred them to conquer the nation of Timber and fight in a long war against Dollet for the sake of uniting the entire continent, all their effort would have been for nothing. Salvanna agreed with her Empress's reasoning, though how Richter would accept the Senate's policy without losing the support of the people was something she kept silent about. The way the _mon-keigh_ ruled their countries was different from the way the drow Empire was ruled. If Richter did not accept the expansionist policy, it could lead to some thorny situations that Salvanna did not want to be in. She sighed quietly. It may be inevitable. It was easier to deal with an autocracy than an oligarchy.

The doors opened to the Parliament swung open and Salvanna caught sight of a lean, well-built man clad in the black-and-silver with the gold threading of a Galbadian Commander. A power sword and a bolt pistol hung by his side, and the long, shoulder-length golden hair gave him away. His eyes swept the council, taking in the members that was sitting there. When it finally landed on her, Richter gave a ghost of an inclined nod that Salvanna understood. He would wish to speak with her later, when the meeting was done. Salvanna gave a slight nod in return. After all, he was a valued friend - and such were rare finds. Richter smiled before he mounted the podium amidst the ovation of the senate, and began his speech.


	6. Chapter 4

_**Chapter 4: Games of power**_

_**Somewhere on Terra…**_

_**17**__**th**__** July 4051, 1840 hrs**_

A day had passed since the Shadow Council last met, and the sun above this place the woman stood should be setting soon. But the blessed rays of the shining orb in the skies would never pierce the darkness of this place. The woman's blue eyes gazed upon the sculpted throne behind the stone table where the Council's inner circle had occupied the day before. It was beautifully crafted, holding a morbid beauty that fascinated and terrified her no matter how many times she looked at it. The throne radiated a miasma of dark majesty and terrible power. Skulls, bone and the faces of tortured souls leered from the throne made the experience of gazing upon the Black Throne a fascinating – yet terrifying – experience. This place – this entire citadel – had been built in the same way as the Ekyolan-Falaria's Grand Temple of Falaris in its capital.

It was the same throne that her patron had sat upon during the chaotic days of the Age of Chaos. A throne that she had gazed upon countless times through the passing of many, many years. The crimson waterfalls that spilt from fanged mouths from the pillars were said to be the blood of the enemies of the Throne's former occupant. A throne that would remain empty until the day of the prophecy came. The promised time that the Prophet Aluando spoke of. The auburn-haired woman had _been_ there, during those legendary events eleven thousand years ago. She had borne witness to the days of the Exile, when the Goddess cast down all the Angel Lords and the Daemon Princes as punishment for their disobedience. She had been there when the aftermath of the Exile. She bore witness to the First Sacrifice War that would birth a hero; that same hero would raise the banner of a bloody revolt that became open war that toppled the wingly Empire in the Dragon Campaign. For the first time in recorded history, drow and human had joined forces to crush their wingly oppressors.

All these historical events had occurred over ten thousand years ago. The woman had lived ever since then. It was a secret only the members of inner circle were privy to, and none of them would speak of it on pain of death. If the historians of Terra who specialised in ancient history had researched into the history of the long-dead Cult of Bhaal, they would have found her name in the priesthood's highest echelons as its reigning High Priestess and its Deathstalker – the mightiest champion of the Daemon Prince Bhaal's hosts.

And for the task he needed accomplished would require the most faithful and the most powerful of his servants. She had met the requirements, and Bhaal bestowed upon her the immortality needed to accomplish the task of murdering the Daemon Prince's bastard children that he had sired in the years prior to the Exile. At first, she had asked why the Daemon Prince had granted her immortality. The Daemon Prince had not answered her, but it soon became clear why. She had a long hunt ahead of her. Should she fulfil her duty and slay all of his bastard children, the Daemon Prince would reward her by elevating her to daemonhood when he returned to life.

Her immortality, however, had a price to it. To ensure that His Priestess did not break the pact they made, Bhaal ensured that she would live as long as she slew his bastard children. She had done so with relish, the god-granted senses aiding her in the task of hunting the Children down, no matter where they hid. The Century of Fire had made the task difficult and the migrating of Terra's races to the numerous colonies and planets in the system had made it all the more so. Even with the aid of the Church of Hyne Temple Knights, it was still proving difficult, but they had pursued their quest with a determination that spanned the ages.

She had started to wonder if it was actually _possible_ to hunt them all down. The chances of doing so were slowly getting lower with each century that passed. Though many of them had perished in the wars and strife that engulfed Terra from the Age of Chaos, till the days of the 2nd Dragon Campaign several thousand years later, they had left their offspring to take their places. And, it was no secret that the Children were prolific. And, with each generation that passed, the power inherent in the soul of each of Bhaal's bastard children became weaker.

But, regardless of how weak the blood of Bhaal flowed in their veins, there was a weakness that would never leave them. The Children of Bhaal were born killers. Many of the most famous murderers and mass murderers had been such men and women. And when Ultimecia's Time Compression had gripped Terra and shook the very fabric of reality, the Beast within all the Children woke. In that one instant, those who had lived normal lives prior to the Time Compression soon realised that they could never return to the lives they once had. Some of the Children, unable to cope with the sleeping Beast, collapsed. Many became berserk animals. The most powerful became the avatars of their unholy ancestor and laid waste to everything around them.

The Sorceress's Time Compression had done her a very great service, indeed. Like flies to a rotting carcass, the Children would now go where the potential for bloodshed was great, knowing that they would very well find their siblings on the battlefields. Their blood would call out to one another and presence of another Bhaalspawn would trigger the Black Rage that was the stigma of their curse. The unholy rage would drown out everything save the instinct to kill. No one who was sane dared to approach a Bhaalspawn in frenzy.

And when all the Children were dead, the mightiest would rise to take their ancestor's Throne as the new Daemon Prince of Murder. To find the heir apparent to the Black Throne, she had to engineer a war so vast that the Children of Bhaal would gather from the farthest reaches of the system to contest their right to the throne. Her eyes went back to the enormous throne. It was a test, the woman knew. Why else would there be a second clause to it all? It was either Bhaal returned, or the strongest descendant of his bastard children would take his place. The last clause was that the Throne would forever remain unclaimed. Which, to the woman's way of thinking, was almost ridiculous. When Bhaal had given her the abilities to allow her to perform the rites to resurrect Him, she had been able to sense the latent power one could acquire upon the ascension. Bhaal had taken a great risk and had entrusted her to channel the life-force of the Bhaalspawn that perished into the Abyss. It had brought up a very interesting question many centuries back. If she could channel such energies, could she not utilise it to her own advantage? Could she also not ascend the Black Throne and become the new Daemon Princess of Murder? The possibility was there, and it was plausible.

Bhaal himself was long gone, and the Daemon Prince's name was nothing more than a fairytale.

"I grow weary of this arrangement. Centuries become millenia and I see almost no end to this task you set me. The reward you promised is becoming more stale with each passing decade," the woman spoke in the direction of the Throne, "And I do not know if you will even uphold your promise."

The woman had known from bitter experience that being rewarded by the Daemon Princes was something that was never certain. Even the Angel Lords were fickle when it came to rewarding their faithful. How would Bhaal be any different?

"If he cannot keep a promise, Deathstalker, then perhaps you can make one for yourself," a voice echoed throughout the empty throne room. The Council leader whirled around, her blue eyes immediately becoming icy as she scanned the darkness that shrouded the chamber, searching for the unseen intruder. Her slender hand gripped the hilt of her katana. Whoever got down here did not do so by mere mischance. Whoever it was, whatever it is, was by no means an easy enemy. To have penetrated the wards without her sensing it took a very skilled opponent.

"Show yourself," the woman hissed into the darkness as she drew her katana from its scabbard. She sent bluish, cold flames spiralling around the blade before flicking it towards the torch scones that have not burned for uncounted centuries. When the light pierced through the darkness close to the doors, the Council leader's breath caught. There, was the speaker.

It was a woman. At first glance, one might have mistaken the woman for a wingly, but the wings and the horns were a dead give away. No wingly had black, feathered wings nor possess the slender, alabaster curved horns that graced the woman's temple. The woman's beauty was one that had tempted martyrs and toppled kingdoms. She was clad in a suit of armour that did nothing but emphasise her lush curves. The woman ran a slender hand through her crimson tresses, smiling mockingly at the auburn-haired woman.

This creature, the latter knew, was a Succubus, and from its wings, she was a servant of the Daemon Prince Falaris. Such creatures have not been seen in over nine thousand years when the feudal ages ended! Why had one come without being summoned was something that disturbed the Deathstalker. It would mean that the daemoness had come at the behest of someone higher than her master.

"Your ambition is known to us, High Priestess of Murder."

"Former High Priestess," the auburn-haired woman corrected, "The Cult of Bhaal is no more."

"Really? Changing the name will not alter the fact that the Shadow Council is carrying out Bhaal's will as his long-dead priesthood did."

The auburn-haired woman raised her katana towards the succubus, "Enough of this wordplay, demon. I am not interested in anything you say save the reason of why you are here. And I doubt your master would want to have anything to do with me."

The former High Priestess knew that daemons were dangerous, and to let one's guard down was to pay the penalty of suffering in the Abyss until eternity came to an end. Nothing short of a Pit Fiend had given her problems, but the auburn-haired woman knew better than to make her judgement from mere appearances. If it came to a fight, her ancient, enchanted katana, Bloodmist, will make her opponent regret ever crossing her.

The succubus laughed throatily, "Yes, High Priestess. You are correct. Lord Falaris did not send me. And I am here not to engage you in wordplay or battle. I am here as a messenger from the Goddess Hyne herself."

"What?!"

The succubus ignored the startled gasp, and continued on.

"You are allowed, High Priestess of Bhaal, to enter the game with the Children of your patron. The rules have already been set by Bhaal himself long ago. Only the mightiest shall earn the right to ascend. If you win," the succubus swept a hand towards the Black Throne, "the throne is yours. If you lose, you die."

The former High Priestess of Murder turned her gaze from the demoness to the Black Throne, its unholy grandeur seen in new light for the first time. She realised now, more than ever, across ten thousand years, that the ambition she had nurtured deep within her soul could be made real. For the prize offered was greater than the one Bhaal offered her when He returned. The former High Priestess went back to where the succubus had been standing, but the demoness was no longer there. It was as though she had faded into thin air. The only thing the creature had left behind had been the words of a forbidden promise.

_If you win, the throne is yours…_

Never had an offer been so tempting as the one being offered to her. No Daemon Prince or Angel Lord could come close in making an offer as generous as that. Should she be victorious, she would have power that the mightiest of Hyne's Daughters could only dream about. But, first, she had to defeat the numerous contenders to the Black Throne. A smile curved her crimson lips.

There was a way. She had lived long and was privy to secrets many would sell their souls to possess. These secrets were ones heavy with power – ones that were capable of laying all of Terra before the feet of a newly crowned Emperor or turning it into a wasteland. But, whom should she approach first? There were several players that the woman was interested in. She thought long and hard, and the sun would set when she finally made her decision. After what she had heard of Galbadia and its president, he would be best suited for what she had in mind.

_**Galbadian Presidential Palace, same day, 2230 hrs**_

Richter Deling strode quietly down the corridors of the presidential palace, his stride grim and resolute. The thump of his boots and the lightning that flashed in his cerulean eyes made more than one servant hurry out of his way, and each guard to pay their respects, lest the president find fault with them. And each knew that he was furious after the way the meeting went. Though Richter did not show it outwardly, the stiff stride of his step and the way his mouth was curled downwards was more than enough proof that he was furious. He had foreseen the moves of the Senate, of their attempt to unseat him, and had judged correctly the provincial representatives that had supported the Senate. He had also judged correctly the fact that the Midnight Kingdom would support him.

Also, he had judged correctly that General Caraway, the Supreme Commander of the Combined Armed Forces of Galbadia, refused to commit Galbadia's Army to any more wars outside of the one the country had with the Dollet Dukedom. It was the first time that the Supreme Commander had flexed his political muscles. And when he did, the clout that came with it was considerable. No political faction in their right minds would go about challenging the considerable political might Caraway and his lieutenants held.

What he had not foreseen was the fact that the representative of the Archangel Duchy, Amaleth Starfire, refused to support Galbadia in any move pertaining to war, whether it be now or latter. That had been the worst blow. Many of the other wingly representatives of the Duchy had fired Amaleth stunned looks that told Richter that the ambassador was clearly going against the orders of his superiors. It was clear that Amaleth knew the discontent of he Galbadian people. Proud as the people are of their heritage and of what they had accomplished and suffered through, the foolishness of his elder brother saw that self-confidence severely shaken.

Salvanna, as was her wont, sent barbs towards the wingly ambassador questioning the courage and the honour of the Duchy. Amaleth fired the drow ambassador an icy look that spoke volumes of his contempt. Even though Galbadia had managed to make the Archangel Duchy and the Midnight Kingdom its allies – or vassal states, as some said – they were unable to suppress the enmity that the two nations bore for each other. Neither country, however, wanted to be the first to start hostilities, as doing so would incur the wrath of the Galbadia.

And to make matters worse, Richter could not go to the Archangel Duchy's Emperor and request that the latter gives Amaleth's position to someone else. Lord Amaleth Starfire was a well-loved and respected war hero who had been through two of the Terra's greatest wars. Damn that wingly! Damn him to all the Hells and back again!

Richter had not become what he was by not anticipating the worst possible scenarios, and this was one of those that left him – and Galbadia – in a very awkward situation. If he said anything that rubbed the political elite or the people the wrong way, his term in office would probably be the shortest one in Galbadian history.

He had said to the entire Parliament before it adjourned, "You all know that Galbadia has many enemies. We are not loved. We're like the Imperial Dominion in a fashion. The most powerful beast in the jungle is one that is respected – and feared. In this region of the world, the Galbadian Alliance is the superpower.

"Every nation in the region, whether it be Esthar, Balamb or the Andosian Federation, watches it with caution and a measure of fear. That fear, ladies and gentlemen, is the reason why Dollet Dukedom sends its splinter cells into Galbadia. That fear, ladies and gentlemen, is the one reason why the nations surrounding Galbadia keep well-armed garrisons on their borders. That fear will, one day, lead to a war with Galbadia, whether it wants it or not. That fear is the reason why Galbadia will go to war, sooner or latter.

"But I understand the worries of the people as well. I understand that because of my brother' s incompetent rule, a majority of them are worried. I do not blame them for their fears. But, my dream was my brother's as well – and theirs. They want a Galbadian Empire. They still do. That was why so many men and women have given their lives to the lie the Sorceress told them. But, unlike the Sorceress, I do not intend to have them die for a lie.

"I ask the Galbadian Senate to shelve any expansionist policies until the storm on Galbadia has passed over. The wounds my brother has gouged upon the people are still in the midst of healing. The people need to come to terms with what their sons and daughters have died for. They have died for Galbadia, and Galbadia shall not forget that. They died for a good dream their forefathers have spent decades fighting hard to build, one stone at a time. Only after they have come to terms with that, can we talk about expanding Galbadia."

The older senators, the foreign delegates, and General Caraway's loyalists have given support to Richter. The younger senators and those belonging to the major political factions had been silent and apprehensive. They had been caught in their own trap. The realisation that their president supported their policy was stymied by the fact that a stupid move on his part would make their job all the more harder and set their plans back for several years. The irony had been delicious, if not for the fact that Richter wanted the same thing. Salvanna Shaladrin had been disappointed and sullen as well. Richter knew that the drow woman would have to explain why things went the way they did to her Empress. After Ultimecia and Vinzer, Richter was not about to make the same mistakes as his brother did.

As the meeting had adjourned, General Jacobus Peterson had approached Richter, asking directly if this was what he wanted. Richter had replied in a tight voice that it was not. There were few enough choices as it is without him facing probable disaster. Richter knew that he was living on borrowed time. To re-unite the people, he had to use the only available outlet capable of uniting Galbadians throughout the continent – the war against Dollet. The rugged border province of Legland had been the scene of many terrible battles. There was too much bad blood between the Dukedom and Galbadia for either side to ever even consider negotiations. It was a fight to the death – and it was the only card Richter had left in uniting the people. Jacobus had listened carefully, and had asked about the original plan without the factors that plagued Richter as it was.

Richter told him and the president could see the fierce ambition spark in the man's eyes. The culmination of the whole plan was to be able to challenge against the very might of the Imperial Dominion, Terra's oldest superpower ever since the dawn of Man's ascension. It was a dream that Galbadia had held for so very long, a dream that was powered by faith and the sheer belief that this will one day come to pass. One could not unite the people through a mere dream, however, but Richter knew he had the ability and the resources to carry it out. But, first, he had to unite the people and the political factions behind him. And that was easier said than done. After one foolish Deling, no one – whether in Galbadia or abroad – wanted to deal with another.

Jacobus told him simply, "Don't _have_ them unite behind you, _make_ them unite behind you."

Richter had asked what was the difference.

Jacobus had smiled and replied that having them unite behind him was to use techniques that he lacked, but his father had. But to make them unite behind him was far simpler, and what more, Jacobus assured him that he had the ability to do so, provided that Richter was willing to accept the consequences. Richter became wary then, but he agreed.

Moments before the Senators filed back into the meeting hall to give Richter their decision, Jacobus told Richter that he would arrange for a meeting with someone who was extremely interested in Richter's ambition and would be willing to help. But for what price was what Richter wanted to know. No one who could offer such a bounty gave them freely. And who would this person be? A renegade SeeD? A mercenary captain? A representative of the Guild of Assassins? Or a speaker from the Interplanetary Merchants Guild?

Richter's thoughts ended when he was about to open the doors to his personal chambers in the West Wing of the presidential palace and noticed that it was ajar. The alarm klaxons in his mind roared to a full blast and the president drew his bolt pistol from its holster. Could it be that an assassin had managed to slip past his guards and security systems to sneak into his bedroom?

Could it be that Dollet had called in a SeeD to do him in?

The possibilities were there, but Richter opened the door slowly. The fireplace within had been lit, and a figure stood before the fire, casting dancing shadows upon the walls. He whipped his pistol up and aimed it at the figure, "Put your hands where I can see them, and turn around."

The figure spoke calmly, as though expecting this, "You may put away your pistol, Deling. I have come unarmed, and at the behest of one who said that you would be interested in meeting me."

From the melodic voice, Richter could tell that the figure was a woman. She turned around, and Deling caught sight of a katana belted around her slender waist. His breath caught. The woman was beautiful, her body lithe and curvaceous beneath the black and red robes that was a mockery of the Holy Knights of the Church of Hyne. The woman's auburn hair cascaded around a heart-shaped face that held blue eyes colder than a winter storm. The calculating and confident air about her told Richter that this woman must be an assassin – a good one. Richter had to hand it to his opponents; they had good taste sending such a woman to make an end of him. And so soon as well…

"Who are you?"

"My name is not important, Richter Deling. Only what I offer you. I have come to serve only your best interests. It is a coincidence that my contacts requested I meet you earlier this afternoon. And put away your pistol. I swear on my honour that I will not hurt you."

"An assassin with honour? That's a first. An assassin's honour is as fragile as the life of his intended target."

The woman laughed lightly as Deling kept his bolt pistol trained on her as he closed and lock the door behind him.

"Quite true. You have proven yourself quite the statesman, Deling. You've read the currents well enough to know how to control it. Unlike your fool of a brother."

"Nothing to be impressed about as I made a complete fool of myself in public."

"How foolish was it to buy yourself some time? You wanted the expansionist policy, didn't you? See – I'm right, aren't I? You want to expand the greatness of Galbadia, but you want the people to know the cost of shouldering that dream. Unlike most world leaders, you are pragmatic and open at the same time. Your little speech was a good one. Now the people believe that they truly have a stake in Galbadia's future. And your assessment about fear and respect from the neighbouring nations is unerringly accurate. You have asked for the Senate to give the people more time to heal before implementing any new policies – and they have given it. You have brought yourself more time, Richter Deling – though that is all you have on your side."

"I know that. The Senate is a nest of vipers. I put my foot in the wrong hole and my grave is as good as dug. But, knowing them, they'll most likely take advantage of any weakness my loyalists and I have during this period to consolidate their position. I can almost swear that those fools are planning to make it sound that the whole expansionist policy was my idea in the first place."

The woman laughed again and nodded, as though agreeing with some unasked question. "But they will find that the older members of the Senate and Caraway's faction difficult to convince. They are not that gullible."

"That is true."

Many of the older politicians were men and women Richter Deling knew from childhood. It was from them that he learnt the art of politicking and knowing when to act and when to keep silent. Some of them had been his favourite 'uncles' who had raised him and Vinzer as his parents, Haddock and Alicia Karenstar Deling, never had time to raise them properly. Having owed them this much, Richter wanted them to be part of his dream. He wanted them to know that the time and effort they spent on him would not have been wasted.

"I know of your ambition, Deling. Like Vinzer, you wish many nations to bow before you. You want to create an Empire by your own two hands, where Deling City would be its capital. Unlike your brother, you are not given to rosy-coloured whispers or foolish illusions. You know how hard it is to accomplish that dream."

"Do not praise me overmuch when I have yet to be started."

"So," she smiled, her purple-tinted lips pulling up once more in a smile, "you are not taken in by praise, either. Good. Overconfidence is as damning as over-reliance. Your surrogate parents have raised you well."

Richter stared at this mysterious woman. How did she know so much about him?

"How is it that you know so much about me?" he asked, putting his pistol aside. If it came to it, he would be able to draw his power sword.

She shrugged, "I would know. My contact told me about you."

"And who might he or she be?"

"I cannot tell. It is not in my policy to disclose the identity of my contacts."

Now it was Richter's turn to chuckle.

Yes, this one was a kindred spirit, he decided. She thought the same way he did, if only more so. "It would not happen to be a certain commander in my army, would it?"

"Not...exactly."

So, Jacobus had other contacts, eh?

"So, lady, how may I address you, if you will not reveal your name?"

The auburn-haired woman remained silent for a brief moment, before answering, "Call me Lady, if you like. It is as good a name as any."

"Very well, Lady. I shall cut the small talk, and get straight to the point. Why are you here?"

"Shouldn't you know, Richter Deling? I am here to make you a bargain that would make your dreams come true."

_**Balamb Garden, Student Lecture Room 2, at the same time**_

Squall Leonheart sat quietly in the darkness of the empty classroom, the light of the moon glinting off the black monitors of the workstations that SeeD students used during class hours in the morning and afternoon. It was the perfect place where one could sit silently and contemplate one's thoughts without interruption. His gunblade, Lion Heart, rested in hands that were callused from years of training.

How peaceful, he thought, the stars were, gleaming brightly, untroubled by mortal concerns. It was like the glimmering of bright souls who have finally earned their well-earned rest after the endless battles in life.

Would he find peace?

Yes. For a brief moment, yes. The Lion of Heaven, the Herald of the Grey King, had found his solace. For now. In the darkness of the room, he could clearly hear the fallen Sorceress's voice, remembering her dire promise. From Ultimecia's words, her defeat would herald a war of colossal proportions. And he would be responsible for it. How would he be responsible for it?

He had walked through the Time Compression, had seen the past, had returned there to re-live his childhood once more. Had walked the path-lines of every possible past and future. _Possible_ was the word he described it. He saw himself living a life other than that of a SeeD, saw a life that would have been different if some things had not changed. But, that was all it was – a _possible_ life. In the real time-line, the past was one encased in iron. He had been raised in an orphanage, became a SeeD later on, becoming one of Balamb Garden's best operatives. In this way, Squall could convince himself that he had a place in a world where no one wanted him. He was a living weapon with no claim to anything. True, he may have defeated Ultimecia and saved the world – but what of it?

Does it ever matter?

Does the world ever matter?

There were times Squall wondered if it had been the right thing to kill Ultimecia. At least, that way, Terra would have been granted a swift, merciful death. The many wars that wracked the planet was a slow death that would render it lifeless sooner or latter. But, he would be a fool if he just stood there and let the Sorceress do him in. And after he and his friends were dead, Terra would follow him into Hell. So be it. It was pointless brooding on something that was already done.

Squall's blue-grey eyes fell upon the workstation opposite of where he sat. He could almost see a white trench-coated figure with golden hair and a gunblade sitting there, hunching over a terminal. _Seifer Almasy_. The White Knight. Traitor. Rival. Sorceress's Knight. Friend. Had it been different, their places would have been reversed. All throughout their lives, Squall and Seifer had competed to better the other. But, much to the fury of the golden-haired Knight, his darker counterpart would be two steps ahead of him.

Squall had long known of Seifer's dream to become a Knight of a Sorceress as it was out of legends and shows that they had watched on the holo-vid when they had lived together in Matron's orphanage. He could almost imagine the joy and elation in Seifer when Ultimecia approached him and offered him his greatest wish. Here was the one chance he could best his rival once and for all.

Squall wondered if he was to blame for Seifer's fall from grace.

Would it have been better if he had fallen before Seifer and allowed him to finally accomplish the goal of besting him?

Was he the one responsible for the deaths of almost a hundred SeeDs and half that number of cadets when Galbadia Garden attacked Balamb in an aerial, all-out assault?

One hundred and fifty SeeDs. In one battle, Garden Balamb had lost more SeeDs in one vicious assault than any Garden on Terra in a hundred battles. No Garden could afford the loss of one. One SeeD was the equivalent of ten of the Dominion's Knightly Orders. Hard to find, train and replace. It would take Balamb almost six years to replace and fully train the numbers lost during that one day alone. It is a reminder to the surviving SeeDs of their own mortality. No matter how strong or skilled they were, death is the one thing they can never defeat.

'The Pale Rider _always_ claims his own.'

Headmaster Cid was always fond of saying those words and every cadet remembers it in his or her worst nightmares. Such words were in direct contrast to the Headmaster's chubby and cheery demeanour. Cid was one of the oldest living human SeeDs in the organisation, even though his time on the battlefield was done. The wingly and drow headmasters were even older, and some have lived through the days of the Usurpation War five hundred years ago.

It was difficult, even for Seifer, to think of Matron's husband as a SeeD. The man clearly did NOT look it, period. The only proof of it was the well-tended, if not battered suit of carapace armour and the broken half of his power sword that had seen every battle for the twenty-plus years Cid had been a SeeD. His calm, fatherly demeanour was a far cry from the descriptions Matron described Cid in his younger days. Matron had laughed, saying teasingly to Rinoa that she was the sheath to the blade that was Squall, just as the older woman was to her husband. Squall had departed quickly before events took a turn for the worst.

But, Squall knew that the blade would be drawn sooner or later. To be a SeeD is to forever have hands red with the blood of others.

And that time would come sooner than expected. It was already starting. He could tell from the live report from the Galbadian Parliament. Richter Deling was no different from his elder brother where their ambitions were concerned. The difference laid in the fact that the current Galbadian president was far more calculating and not given over to swift solutions that his elder brother preferred. Even so, that would not stop him from wishing he had one. Those who knew that now was not the time for it had opposed the aggressive expansionist policy laid down by a majority of the Senate. Galbadia may have survived the reign of Ultimecia and Vinzer Deling, but the wounds inflicted were still fresh. The opposition's stand was further strengthened when General Caraway voiced his support. The shock that rippled through the Senate was one mirrored by everyone that had been called into Headmaster Cid's office. It would, as Zell had said, a cold day in Hell before General Caraway jumped off the Deling Family's lap.

If that was the case, Hell had already frozen over. General Caraway had served the Deling Family with the loyalty a Kamiyan samurai who serve his liege lord. The mere thought of him refusing to follow the orders of the family he had sworn to serve and protect was something that did not happen. Even his worst critics and a majority of the populace on Terra knew this.

Richter seemingly knew this as well, but the way he took it told Squall that the Galbadian president had anticipated this. What was not anticipated, however, and caused the icy calm of the president to crack had been the Archangel Duchy's representative's refusal to support their traditional ally. If Caraway's refusal to support his president had already not been shocking enough, the Archangel Duchy's ambassador refusal to pledge the support of his country for their traditional ally floored them. It was clear that the words spoken by the Duchy's ambassador was something the other delegates of the Duchy did not expect, from the way they had reacted.

His thoughts turned to one other person who stood out despite the hurricane that had swept through the Galbadian Senate. Unlike the president, he had maintained a calm composure throughout the entire meeting. The man's name had been Jacobus Peterson, Caraway's rival and Commander of the Western Provincial Armies of Galbadia. Like a majority of Galbadia's military commanders, Jacobus was as ambitious and power-hungry as they came. He was the sort of man determined to do anything to increase his standing, and the chance was clearly obvious during that meeting. That he would do nothing aroused Squall's suspicions. He was a man that bears the most watching.

Squall was certain that the countries in the region surrounding Galbadia would watch Galbadia's every move during this period. Everyone knew that the president of Galbadia was living on borrowed time in order to restore the equilibrium between the political elite, the military and the people. When that time was up, those countries wanted to see what Galbadia would do next. Even Esthar, the only major power in the region, watched Galbadia through a microscope. His fool of a father was not going to be careless; he knew fully well that Galbadia's military behemoth was not even _dented_ after the Sorceress War a year ago.

Would a war break out?

It was a question many people had on their minds and was one that not totally unreasonable. Galbadia's ambition was great, and having survived Ultimecia, their pride had become greater. They had survived Ultimecia – who or what would be able to stop them?

Maybe it was just his suspicions overriding his reason, but Squall could tell from reports from his agents in Galbadia that its pride was a façade for its people's stubborn determination to rebuild their country after Ultimecia and Vinzer Deling. They would not want to go to war. Not unless someone forced them to and woe betide the fool who did so.

The door hissed open and Quistis strode into the darkened classroom. The blue-eyed instructor looked around before she caught sight of him sitting at the terminal he used to sit at back when he was a cadet. It was evident that she had been looking for him. Squall's grey eyes met Quistis's blue, telling her without words that he wished to be alone. Quistis, on her part, knew that look, but refused to be intimidated by it. She came closer, the door hissing shut behind her.

"Squall," she spoke, sitting opposite him, "Rinoa has been looking for you."

"I prefer to be alone for now," Squall replied, his eyes gazing at the stars. The SeeD commander glimpsed sideways to his lieutenant, and saw that she never changed. Quistis was wearing her black and silver SeeD uniform with the markings of a Senior Instructor. Like him, Quistis had the incurable habit of carrying her weapon with her no matter where she went.

"You seem troubled, Squall. Care to tell me about it?"

Silence.

"I can tell that the news report was not the only thing that was bothering you. It's about Galbadia, isn't it?"

Squall did not answer for a brief moment, his eyes still fixed upon the silver-spotted night sky where the white moon shone through the classroom's window. He admitted that his former instructor was still as perceptive as ever.

"The night is always so peaceful, Quistis. You remember the time back when we were in the orphanage? Every Christmas, we would all go to the roof and look up at the stars and the snow that would fall at midnight. I swear, Quisty…sometimes, I could almost see my mother in the distance…hear her voice, if I listened hard enough."

Quistis looked startled at the mention of their shared past not yet devoured by the Guardian Forces. She accepted the brief change of subject without complaint. It was rare for Squall to speak, rarer still to have him speak long sentences beyond two. And, rarest of all, he hardly spoke about his mother, Raine Leonhart. Even after Ultimecia, Squall was still cold and solitary, preferring to fight alone. That cold mask of indifference hid a heart that was weighed by a burden no one his age should bear.

The instructor smiled, "They were. But, do not evade the question, Squall. Tell me what is really bothering you."

Squall stood up and strode towards the window, swinging the broad gunblade to rest upon his shoulder. The moonlight caused Squall's eyes to burn a beautiful shade of silver that stole Quistis's breath. His expression, however, had none of the starlit warmth. It was one that the instructor had seen many times on her student whenever they went out to do battle.

"Galbadia has not changed, Quisty. You already know that. And after Ultimecia and Vinzer, the political elite of Galbadia want to show the rest of Terra that they are not out of the game yet."

Squall felt Quistis's eyes upon his back, questioning, and decided to explain further, "You know why Galbadia allied with Ultimecia, don't you? It was to lay claim to their long-cherished dream of being the sole power on Terra. But, after all that has happened, the Deling Family has neither the support of the people or its Army, and has the surrounding nations eyeing its every move. It is a situation aggravated by uncertain relations with the Archangel Duchy. Richter has requested time from the Senate to give his people more time to heal their wounds and come to terms with the fact what the sons and daughters of Galbadia have died for. What worries me is what will happen after the year is up."

Quistis nodded her assent. The events in the Galbadian Senate had surprised her as well. But, like Squall, she had also come to the same conclusion. What would happen after the year was up? The thought of Galbadia – although watched by every country surrounding it – left alone was something that gave Quistis the creeps. It was like leaving a bomb unattended while it ticked down.

"One side tells me to listen to my gut instinct; the other tells me to listen to the hope that Galbadia will not do what I think it's doing."

"Which one will you listen to, Quisty?"

"I don't know."

"Then let me tell you your answer," and Squall turned to face his former instructor, "You know that Galbadia has not changed after Ultimecia and Vinzer. It has never changed from the time the country was founded. Do you really think Richter Deling is different from any other Deling?"

Quistis shook her head.

"Then you have your answer. Richter cannot start a war now without good reason and the support of his people and his army. What Richter needs is the excuse to start it."

Richter stiffened briefly as he regarded the slender woman standing before him. A cold wind blew into Caraway's well-decorated and richly furnished private chambers and moonlight shone upon the heavy oaken table with the sigil of the Deling Family beneath its polished glass.

A bargain…

This woman penetrated through the sophisticated security defences and the guards of the presidential palace to offer him a bargain? Richter looked at the woman carefully, taking note of her appearance. With the robes she wore, Richter deduced that she might be a representative of one of the Black Guard orders of Ekyolan-Falaria, but he did not see the emblem of the Eyes of Falaris upon her person, or perhaps a Guild Assassin. A more disturbing train of thought entered his mind. Could this woman be a renegade SeeD?

Another Seifer Almasy perhaps?

"If you're offering your services as an assassin, I suppose I could use you. After all, you managed to elude over two hundred guards and bypass every security system in the palace – no mean feat, I can assure you."

"An assassin?" the woman sniffed, "No, Richter Deling, I'm not one. But, I think the reason as to why I'm here is greater to the reason to how I got here. As to that, I'm here to offer you the very means to carry out your ambition. Oh, don't deny it. I'm not blind. You want it as much as the expansionist faction in your Senate wants it, but you're no reckless fool. You know the consequences if you make one false move now."

"Why should I trust you? How do I know that this is not some ploy hatched by those terrorists in Timber and Dollet to do me in? Those bastards will try any trick to put me in my grave, and they're not the only two who have more than one reason to hate me."

"Perceptive. Another good trait lacking in your brother. I have very little reason to trick you, Richter Deling. I want what you want. Power. The only thing is that I do not have the means to carry out my plans. Galbadia has the manpower and the resources to carry it out, but it lacks the power to do so because it will face the wrath of hostile nations if it so much as makes the attempt."

"And what do you want in return? Nothing is ever given for free."

The woman smiled again, "True. When you have accomplished your dream, I will name my price. By which time, I believe you will be able to pay it."

This woman was good, Richter mused. Her ability to negotiate and bargain had been honed to a razor's edge. Astute, confident and intelligent, she could easily take on some of the Senate's wiliest members and still come out on top.

"How do I know that you will not lead me on a wild-goose chase?"

"I won't. Suspicion is all good and well, Richter, when dealing with an adversary you do not recognise or trust. I swear that what I will show you will make it worth your time. Trust me."

Richter's raised one eyebrow in speculation. What was this woman offering him?

"Nothing short of technology from the Usurpation War can aid me if I choose to go to war, Lady. I will need such power if I am to face the armies of over a dozen nations."

The woman smiled once more, and Richter could have sworn that her eyes burned with an azure flash like lightning, "If you are willing to put aside several days of your time, I will show you some of the secrets left from the era _of_ the Usurpation War. We will need your personal battlecruiser, and trusted crew- members who are to be sworn to silence. And I promise you, Richter Deling, you shall not be disappointed."

Richter's gaze became firm, serious and contemplative as he thought over the offer. Oh yes, he wanted such power to help him accomplish his dream of making Galbadia the only superpower in the world. But he had two great obstacles to overcome before that dream could become feasible. He had to regain the trust of his people, which was no easy task. Harder still would it be to convince the Supreme Commander, General Caraway, to support him. If he cannot gain Caraway's support, this woman would provide the only solution to his problem. But, even so, Richter wanted Caraway's support. The old man was the only general that could mobilise the Galbadian behemoth with ease.

The president of Galbadia met the woman's eyes, and spoke, "Very well, Lady. I accept this bargain of yours. And you had better make sure it is worth my time. If not, you will pay very, very dearly for your airy lies."

She merely nodded.

"But tell me one thing before I agree: why do you need my battlecruiser?"

"Because we are going to space."

"Why is that?"

"Because what I want to show you is there, behind the dark side of the moon, hidden from even the magna-scopes and scanners of the Science Facilities of the world."

Richter stared at her. Behind the dark side of the moon? What could be there? But, he had given his word and was willing to sacrifice his time if it meant finding the way to accomplish his ambitions.

"We leave by the end of the month."


	7. Chapter 5

_**Chapter 5: Dark Angel Rising**_

_**23**__**rd**__** July Year 4051, Shining Hill Ishtarian Imperial Shipyard, northern frontier province of Galdon, Galdon Desert, 2200 hrs**_

_**Dark Templar SeeD Special Forces Unit, Team Alpha**_

The Ishtarian base of Shining Hill was located on the coastal regions of Ishtar's northernmost frontier province on the Zelgardis desert continent. It was a land that was not easy to traverse, due to that land's harsh climate and the poisonous creatures and monsters that hunted at dawn and dusk. Only the foolish would ever venture through the harsh wastelands of the Zelgardis continent unarmed. The presence of a major military fortress in that region bespoke of a vital node in the Ishtarian frontier's defence network against the nation of Aphrodia. Located close to the sea, the base had a massive harbour to provide anchorage for Ishtar's vast navy, as well as a major starport and barracks to service its starfleet and army respectively.

Shining Hill was also the place where the Command Staff of several formations fighting deep in Aphrodian-held territory was located, and the base acted as the one and only secure supply line. And because of that, the base was heavily defended from every form of attack possible. Dome-shaped infantry bunker networks doubled up with numerous heavy-weapon turrets and automated AA missile turrets. The last also doubled as sentry units, for their state-of-art scanners could detect cloaked enemy units the moment they came within the range of its sensors. The moment any did so would probably be its last mistake.

Thus, that was the reason why five figures lurking behind one of the countless sand dunes on the desert landscape kept out of the turrets' scanning range, waiting for the right time to strike. Four of the five operatives were clad in carapace armour, their shimmering Shadow Cloaks rendering them all but invisible to the human eye. The last one, however, wore a bulky suit of black power armour dating back from the days of the First Usurpation War. His Shadow Cloak shimmered and flowed about him like folded wings. Each member of the team was armed and equipped with alien technology that was unrivalled even by mighty Esthar and trained to a degree unmatched by any elite force on Terra.

And, as with all elite operatives, they have considered every danger inherent to this already very dangerous mission. Despite the fact that the Shadow Cloaks were generations ahead of the Stealth Devices used by Ghost operatives, it could not mask the fact that they were still alive. A random sensor sweep by Shining Hill's ComSat stations would raise an alarm that would wake the dead before sending the kill-team off to Hell.

But, that was not the only problem. The base was also heavily patrolled by dozens of Ishtarian troopers. It was a fact one of the operatives found particularly annoying, even if she did expect it, "This is not going to be as easy as the last time. The security network on this one is tighter than the Intelligence reports we received."

"Indeed. I'll not be surprised if there were Black Widow battle-robots within the inner perimeter. The Ishtarian military has purchased a good number of those in its recent dealings with Galbadia," spoke a man in black power armour. Like the woman, the man was looking through a pair of magno-binoculars.

"It is a good thing," the black-armoured man added, "we did not utilise a sea-borne infiltration. The coastal defences are heavier than the perimeter defences."

"Outside of the coastal guns, what else is there?" came the voice of another woman.

"Dug in Gundam S2s with M15 Railguns, commander. There is approximately one MS regiment on duty stretched throughout the coastline."

"Damn it. We have two problems, then. One of them is getting in. The other is getting out. The missile turrets in the perimeter defences are our prime concern. Without them, we could sneak in and out without them even realising."

"Indeed."

Another man asked, "Could the weather reports be wrong, chief?"

The leader shook her head, "No. Look at the skies. The storm will come soon."

"That will be the only time we can infiltrate, commander. I will go knock out –" and was immediately cut off by the fourth member of the kill-team.

"Commander, we're receiving a message from Aphrodia via Team B. There has been an alteration to our mission specifications."

The SeeDs around the speaker had thunderous expressions, even though she could not see their faces. Last minute changes to mission directives were what they – SeeD or otherwise – hated. Doing so would waste valuable time as they altered their previous plans, and in such proximity to the enemy base, suicide. And it was made worse by the fact that they were receiving the transmission via their extraction team that waited offshore. If the Ishtarians intercepted the transmission, this mission was as good as over.

"Stupid son of a bitch. Is the transmission encoded and jammed?" the leader fumed, her eyes shards of blue ice.

"Yes, chief. It's on the tightest beam transmission. With the atmospheric disturbance, it should mask the transmission."

"But, you'll never know," her power armoured compatriot spoke, keeping his eyes on the base for any sign of movement," I'll need to have a word with the Aphrodian sector commander later. What are the changes?"

The girl realised that she was being spoken to. She licked her lips and read the message on her gauntlet, "The mission specs remain the same, captain. Only now, they want the Base Commander, General Trevor dead. Him and his family."

The commander's icy gaze became blue slits and her second's eyes became a shade of amber the girl had seen only on the battlefields. When that happened, it was not a good sign. When the commander spoke, her voice matched the sleeting frost of her eyes, "Who gave that order, Alise?"

"I don't know, Jaheira. Most likely someone who has a very bad bone to pick with the Ishtarian general to have him and his family killed. And the Aphrodians are willing to pay a very high amount to see it done. It's confirmed that the Ishtarian general's family is in the base with him."

The leader of the kill-team, Jaheira – code-named Malevolyn – looked at her other companions. Although their faces covered by their helmets, she could sense their grim acceptance of the order they had received. Even so, that acceptance concealed a well of revulsion and loathing at the killing of innocents. Jaheira did not blame them. It was an order that even the veterans of Garden Falaris sometimes found difficult to obey. But, to her and her power-armoured compatriot, it was an order they were used to. They – and one other with the extraction group – belonged to the Death Angels, a Special Forces group within Garden Falaris's elite. Numbering 12 in all, they often engaged in Black Ops blacker than the name suggested. Murder, assassination, espionage and sabotage were all but part of their repertoire. None of them had any qualms about taking a life that had been marked for death – but the murder of children was something that shook them to the core that still remained human.

No. There is no time for hesitation. An order was an order. The least that could be done was to make their deaths swift and painless.

"Who will take out General Trevor and his family?"

A cold wind acted up, as though the Heavens themselves condemned the murderous order that had been given. Their stealth cloaks fluttered around them and a chance observer would have half-believed that the Angels of Death had their eyes upon some unfortunate soul residing within the base. A trio of Wraith starfighters flew over the base to the starport, obviously returning from their patrol, their fiery thrusters clearly seen in the stormy skies.

"The sandstorm is coming, Jaheira. It's time. Kurai, give me your sniper rifles and half a dozen of the optic flare shells," said the amber-eyed operative, "All of you, meet me inside the base. I'll render the missile turrets on the eastern end of the base inoperable. I will take care of the general and the mobile suit hangars. Jaheira, see to everything else."

The man took the gun from his compatriot before putting on his helmet and activated the Shadow Cloak. The air around him pulsated briefly before he faded from the eyes of his compatriot. Jaheira's lips became a thin line and she nodded tightly. Once a SeeD has taken pay and a contract from their employers, nothing short of death would stop them from completing their objectives. Even if the objective was cold-blooded murder.

_SeeD takes no prisoners – and never fails._

A grim motto of the SeeD organisation that told every inhabitant of Terra that death was inevitable when a SeeD came. Already, the shadow of the Reaper was above Shining Hill. Jaheira turned to Alise, "Inform Aphrodian HQ that the mission has been accepted. Lucifer will execute the mission."

_**Corundis Isle, 2155 hrs, 15km off the Shining Coast**_

_**Dark Templar Extraction Team Bravo**_

On the nearby Corundis Isle, some 15 kilometres off the Shining Coast where the Ishtarian fortress of Shining Hill was located, the extraction team waited for their compatriots on the mainland to accomplish their mission. Five mobile suits and a shuttle waited behind the forest canopy, out of sight. The vision enhancing equipment mounted on them allowed its pilots to look at the base, and more than one of them felt rightfully nervous when they looked upon the sight presented to them.

Victor Highlander whistled, "That is one place I don't want to tackle in my dreams. No way those Aphrodians can take this place down without being shredded in the process. Even orbital bombardment is a risky endeavour with those defense laser silos."

"Boo agrees," came a reply from the nearby Leynos Assault Suit.

Victor winced at the sound of that cheery voice as his Zaku's single focusing lens turned towards the Leynos's direction. If his Zaku had had a face, it would have shown mingled irritation and annoyance. The man in the Leynos was Minsc Hargar, one of the three Death Angel Special Forces operatives that had been assigned to Victor's strike force when Garden Falaris had accepted a contract with Aphrodia. And a good thing, too. The Strike Force captain had lost count of how many times the Death Angel sharpshooter had saved his life. Minsc, code-named 'Hawkeye', lived up to his moniker. Regardless of whether on foot on in a 15-ft tall MS, the Death Angel sharpshooter always hit what he aimed at, even if he was on the move. Few people in Garden Falaris could disagree that there was no better shot or more loyal a friend than Minsc.

The only downside to Minsc, however, was that he was a moralistic man. It was the greatest reason why the other members of the Death Angels he was part of sometimes refused to tell the big man the full details of some of their more…distasteful missions. Minsc may well disobey and jeopardise the lives of his comrades in the process. And Victor had seen Minsc angry. It had not been a pretty sight when the big man went berserk. By looking at Minsc, one could tell that the man was prodigiously strong, and he wielded his heavy double-handed thunder hammer and heavy bolter as though they were mere toys. It reinforced the impression that he was not a man to be taken lightly. Minsc was one of the Death Angels' two heavy weapons specialists, the other being Xander Stillhawk who was code-named 'Havoc'.

Victor had heard of the Death Angels when he had first joined Garden Falaris as a new recruit. Foolishly, he had hoped to one day take a place amongst the finest of the Garden's elite. He was soon disabused of the notion when he heard rumours about the Death Angels constant involvement in Black Ops that no other Dark Templar of Garden Falaris or SeeD of any other Garden would wish to get involved in. The missions they undertook gave the Death Angels a grim reputation that earned respect and fear in equal measure. Victor thanked the Goddess above that he had followed his instructor's advice to not submit a petition to join them. Not only was their entrance requirements excruciatingly high for SeeD standards, the missions they undertook was a guaranteed death sentence upon the single, slightest mistake.

It was a fact further reinforced when the Death Angels Commander and her second had led three of Victor's Scarlet Guards – Kurai, Daleon and Alise – to infiltrate the base. Though he knew them to be competent and fearless under fire, undergoing this nerve-wracking mission was something they would have every right to boast about – provided they got out alive.

"Victor, I have an incoming transmission from Aphrodia HQ. It's coded and coming in on Kurai's Gold Channel…And Victor…I don't think you'll like what it's going to say." said Sophie, the pilot of another Zaku. Gold Channel was the special channel that Kurai – the Strike Force's T&C (Technical and Computer) expert – had personally set up so that Aphrodia's C&C could transmit and receive their mission directives or to report possible obstacles in the missions they undertook. Of all the MS in Victor's team, only Sophie's Zaku was outfitted with the long-range communications array that allowed the team to communicate with Aphrodia's sector HQ.

The hesitation in Sophie's voice was something that Victor found out of place. The girl was a veteran of many missions ever since her graduation and was not easily shaken. What was in that message that caused such hesitation to arise in her voice?

"Put it on my screen, Sophie. Lemme' see what it says before you shoot this to Commander Jaheira."

"But…"

"Do it."

As soon as the words appeared on the screen of his control panel, Victor regretted his curiosity almost immediately. Despite it being put in poetic words, there can be no denying its underlying meaning, "I cannot believe I'm actually seeing this. Sophie, are you sure this is…?"

"I confirm it. It holds the authentication codes of the Aphrodian Sector Commander."

Victor's lips became a thin line as he read the transmission once more.

_**From: Sand Scorpion Base**_

_**via : Amethyst**_

_**To: Slayer Team**_

_**Mission specs remain unchanged. There is a new target. Eliminate the Alpha male and his cubs in its den. The weight in gold will be five times its original amount. The owls have confirmed that the target is in the base.**_

_**Swordmaster**_

The Scarlet Guard strike force captain closed his eyes for several minutes as he fought to suppress his conscience. He knew that this order was not right. It simply wasn't right. Yes, SeeD undertook assassination missions before, but all of those targets were men and women of important military or political standing. None of those missions had ever involved children. And here, before him, laid the words that would kill them. Yes, he had seen dead children before, lying like ragged dolls beneath his MS. It was a sight that chilled Victor's heart that had been hardened to war. It never stopped chilling his heart.

"Victor?" Sophie's gentle voice spoke in his suit.

"Is Minsc listening to this?"

"No. I locked him out."

"Good. Send the transmission to Jaheira, Sophie."

Sophie hesitated only briefly, "Roger."

The reply came back ten minutes later.

_**From: Slayer Team**_

_**To: Swordmaster, Sand Scorpion Base**_

_**Mission accepted. Lucifer will finish the hunt.**_

_**Malevolyn**_

Victor looked at the message before closing his eyes and whispering a quiet prayer for the Ishtarian General and his family before he told Sophie to send the message back to the Aphrodian sector HQ. Victor knew that while the Daemon Princes had the potential for mercy, Lucifer did not. He never did.

The operative known as Lucifer came close to the nearest missile turret, the borrowed sniper rifle readied to send an optic flare that would knock it out as the sandstorm came in. It would make it look as though the storm had knocked it out of commission. In such hostile terrain, even the hardiest pieces of military hardware needed constant repair and upkeep to keep them in operation. The winds grew stronger with each passing minute and it didn't take long for a full-scale sandstorm to lash its tidal fury on anything that was not under shelter. The man unhurriedly raised the rifle, the advanced targeting system built into his power armour and on the rifle itself already memorised the location of the three turrets.

Keeping the rifle steady, however, was another matter altogether and Lucifer risked losing the sniper rifle to the desert storm's ferocious winds. He dropped to the desert floor, but it did not do much. The winds kept throwing off the aim of the sniper several times. Getting a tighter grip on the high-powered rifle, he peered through the scope, hoping that it would immediately lock on. Almost immediately, he cursed as he saw that the rifle was re-calibrating the location of the missile turrets. There was a possibility that the sensor array of the missile turrets would detect his proximity. The targeting crosshairs turned golden then, marking out the three missile turrets. Lucifer fired immediately, sending an optic flare slashing towards the target. There was a brief white flash as the round caused the turret's circuitry to overload and burn out. Twice more, the Dark Templar repeated the procedure and knocked a hole in the security perimeter.

"Malevolyn, the way is clear. Lucifer out."

The reply was clear, despite the magnetic interference of the sandstorm, "Acknowledged."

Minutes later, the kill-team, unseen and undetected, swept into the Ishtarian base under the cloaking winds of the sandstorm, to carry out their deadly mission.

_**Shining Hill base perimeter, 2200 hrs, 30 minutes to mission completion**_

The guard posed little problem as Jaheira put a strong hand across his mouth, stifling his scream as she plunged a combat knife into his unprotected throat. His lasgun fell from his nerveless fingers as the dying man struggled feebly. The invisibility of her Shadow Cloak served her well and the guard had not sensed her presence until it was too late. Even without the cover of the sandstorm, there was no way the Ishtarian soldier would have ever detected her or her compatriots.

The soldier's compatriot whirled around, and Jaheira saw the eyes under the re-breather mask widen in horror. The Death Angel leader knew then that she had little time before the guard would raise the alarm. Dropping her combat knife, Jaheira swept towards the remaining guardsman. Out came one of her twin scimitar-shaped warp-swords in a deadly arc that severed the man's head before he could even make a sound. Blood exploded in a gruesome fountain, staining the walls and the ground as the headless corpse of the guard crashed to the ground.

Using her bolt pistol was a waste of ammunition and was severely lacking in the subtlety and stealth that the mission required. Her two comrades appeared behind her and disposed of the corpses in the nearby mobile waste receptacle. Jaheira made another gesture, sweeping a faintly glowing hand over the pools of blood, causing them to evaporate into a red mist that was blown away in the harsh winds of the sandstorm.

"We have the element of surprise," Jaheira spoke to her comrades, "Make it count. Daleon, Alise – the two of you will target the starports. Both of them, if possible. Kurai, you and I will target the Jehovah Defense Satellite up-link station and see if we can disable the missile turrets. Rendezvous at Point Alpha-Zero-Zero-Seven-Four near the mobile suit repair facility and paint it as we withdraw."

"Where is Lucifer, commander?"

Jaheira fell silent, her expression hidden beneath her helmet, but her flinch did not go unnoticed. "He can take care of himself, Daleon. Kurai?"

"Yes?"

"We need to disable the central node of Shining Hill's anti-missile system, or else the missiles cannot even come close to Ishtarian airspace. That means we'll have to infiltrate one of the Command Centres to do it. You up to it?"

"No problem."

"Good. We are working against the clock, everyone. So make it swift and silent. We have thirty minutes."

The main Command Centre of the Ishtarian base of Shining Hill was a mighty edifice that had seen the days of the Second Dragoon Campaign, and was as formidable as its reputation suggested. The Shining Fortress, as many military strategists had called it, was one of Terra's most impregnable strongholds. Even when the Imperial Dominion had laid siege to it over forty years ago during the Campaign, they could not break the Shining Fortress's defences. Up close, Lucifer could see why. The bunker and heavy weapons defense network surrounding the Fortress was more than enough to tear up an invading force in short order. Not even a starfighter squadron would be able to make a bombing run without risking the Fortress's defensive guns.

Lucifer stopped in his tracks, his lips tightening. The Fortress was a place where the Ishtarians would make a last stand if the rest of Shining Hill had fallen. It was without question that they would fortify that place heavily in such an event to withstand aerial, ground and orbital attack. Lucifer adjusted the settings on his helmet. And, just as he suspected, there were missile turrets surrounding the Fortress at strategic locations. He clenched his teeth in frustration. If he so much as got close, the mission would be compromised.

He flipped a channel to his commander, "Malevolyn, it's me. I cannot proceed with the hunt until the dogs are thrown off my scent. Silence them all."

"Acknowledged. Will inform you when we have completed our part of the mission."

Lucifer then turned his mind inwards, closing eyes that was now a murderous shade of amber, as he summoned the Guardian Force Siren. Normally, it would have been an easy thing for the Death Angel 2IC, but with the Black Rage bubbling, it made the summoning all the more difficult. He suppressed the blood-thirst in him long enough to send the call to his Guardian Force. She had been his first Guardian Force before he had ascended and joined the ranks of his Garden as a fully-fledged member. As such, their high compatibility ensured that she came swiftly when he called for her.

Her melodious voice soon echoed in his mind and he could see the angel-winged goddess in his mind, _ Yes, Spiritblade? _

_Siren, I'll need you to cast a barrier of silence around the guards when I move into position to attack. _

The Guardian Force smiled in his mind, _ Consider it done. _

He clenched his left fist, focusing his mind once more. This time, however, it was not to summon a Guardian Force. The air around the armoured hand shimmered and warped into an ornate, taloned gauntlet with curling amethyst crystals that flexed with a cold, inhuman strength. Walking up to the main entrance and silencing all the guards was a tempting idea, but one that was reckless and it risked the lives of his compatriots. They may be five well-trained operatives, but against the numbers that would be thrown against them was outright madness. Lucifer couldn't risk it. While Malevolyn attempted to disable the missile turrets around the Shining Fortress, he'd best search for a weakness in the Shining Fortress's security network. Ensuring that he kept out of the ranger of the missile turret clusters that dotted the base, Lucifer began scouting the defences of the Shining Tower, searching for that one weak link in an otherwise strong chain that he could use to his advantage.

_**Pantas Mountain Range, 300 km from targeted installation**_

_**Aphrodian Strike Force Desert Hawk, 2205 hrs**_

Far behind the Pantas Mountain range, the Aphrodian strike force Desert Hawk awaited the signal to strike. The strike force consisted of half a dozen Hellstrike LRM tanks that were capable of delivering their payloads over a distance of 600 kilometres. With the Strike Force were three MS platoons – nine Gundam S2 ground-based Assault Suits and three Sonar hovertanks – that acted as an escort to the LRM division to protect them from ground and air assaults. As such, they had required the use of a Leviathan-class dropship to ferry them to their positions at an altitude so low they had almost hit the forbidding mountain several times.

Major Armadeus crossed his arms over his armoured chest, wondering when the signal to strike would be given. He wanted to get out of this place as soon as possible and no one in his command faulted him for thinking that way. Sitting this deep in enemy lines was suicidal, to put it mildly. Coming in on a Leviathan-class dropship capable of transporting an entire battalion was something that made Armadeus question his superior's sanity. Upon further consideration, however, it may well have been the only choice. Aphrodian High Command wanted Shining Hill turned into a smoking crater. There were two ways to do this. One was to utilise an ICBM N2-missile strike – and considering the anti-missile capabilities of Shining Hill – it was a waste of resources. The other option of taking out Shining Hill was what Armadeus was in the process of doing. Each of the Hellstrikes mounted two Death Hand-class laser-guided missiles. Once a target within the base had been painted, its co-ordinates would be sent to Aphrodia's orbiting satellite and to the Death Hand's in-built targeting computers. The operative would then have five minutes to get out of the blast radius of a full kilometre. Even though less powerful that the N2 missiles, the Death Hand was a cluster based bomb capable of delivering its payload over a wide area with the most damage caused to its primary target.

Armadeus had fought the war against Ishtar for ten long years ever since the former sovereign state of his country demanded that they returned to becoming a protectorate of Ishtar once more during the days of the Second Dragon Campaign. Aphrodia had fought hard for its independence a century ago, and the very grounds that its people lived upon were wet with the blood of heroes. Armadeus had no desire to surrender his country or his people to the iron boot-heel of Ishtar. If their former colonial master had been more benevolent, Aphrodia would never have ceded from them. Everyone on Terra knew that Ishtar was one of the superpowers and as such, its armies were formidable and equipped with technology that their Aphrodian adversaries lacked.

Which was why Armadeus's division had been sent in the first place. The campaign that Ishtar was waging had devastated the border defences and turned the frontier cities into battlegrounds. Aphrodian High Command had several options. One was to launch an attack on one of the Ishtarian provinces and force Ishtar's High Command to raise the siege on Aphrodia's northern provinces to turn back to assault. The second option was to reinforce the embattled northern provinces and hope that they could stem the tide while Aphrodia prepared to launch a counterattack. The third was to find who was directing the northern campaign and eliminate him.

The third option had been chosen, for the fact that there was no way that Aphrodia could spare the manpower needed without causing the other frontier provinces to destabilise. With data and intelligence gathered by scouts and agents within Ishtar, Field Marshall Clark Westwind finally discovered where the beating heart and head of the leaders commanding the northern campaign was located. Shining Hill – one of Ishtar's border fortress that was located upon the Shining Coast. Knowing and having experienced Shining Hill's impregnable legend, the Field Marshall chose to call in specialists that would ensure the mission's success. He called in the Dark Templars of Garden Falaris. The price was right.

Armadeus had met these operatives - ten in all – and the cost to bring them in was staggering. Seven of the members were of the Scarlet Guards and the remaining three came from the ranks of Garden Falaris's elite Death Angels Special Forces. One, the appointed leader of the entire strike force, was a beautiful, blonde-haired, half-wingly woman Armadeus wouldn't have minded spending a night with. She was a tough woman and it showed in the way she carried herself and fought. The second of the Death Angels was a dark-haired man, well-built and sturdy, and was clad in black Mark IV power armour that was worn by the Knightly Orders of the Imperial Dominion and the Black Guards of Ekyolan-Falaria. Such technology had been available in the days before the First Usurpation War but was now lost. Only the Dominion and Ekyolan-Falaria had the templates for power armour and the hulking Terminator suits. The third was an enormous, cheerful man who kept talking to a pet hamster he called Boo, and Armadeus wondered if the man was mad. The half-wingly woman told Armadeus that he was their sharpshooter, and that his skill was such that even blindfolded and thrown into a whirlwind, he could still discern where his target was and hit it dead centre. At least, of all his compatriots, the last was more than capable of holding a good conversation – albeit an odd one.

Armadeus had never been comfortable with the second member of the Death Angels. There was something to the man that the major disliked and the majority of his people found extremely disconcerting. It was something no one could put into words, but when one young private had commented that having that Death Angel nearby was like having the Justicar of the Grey King there in person. The kid never knew how right he was. He was shot dead three days later in an Ishtarian strike.

Over the course of the three months that the Dark Templars worked with Aphrodia, Armadeus soon noticed that the Ishtarian attacks became more erratic and its chain-of-command started to be replaced with increasing regularity. Sabotages and devastating lightning raids crippled assaults before they could be mounted and the Dark Templars made life extremely difficult for the enemy. Not even the psychic Ghost Operatives could cause this much damage in so short a time. But, the skills of the Dark Templars were not only limited to just covert operations, as they soon proved. In an open battle, they could easily take countless lives with an ease that left the blood frozen in one's veins. The Dark Templars combined unmatched technological wargear coveted by many nations with the ruthlessness that earned SeeD its fearsome reputation on the battlefields. The Dark Templars were not only ruthless – they were utterly merciless.

It was a mercilessness that became cruelty whenever the Dark Templars fought against their fellow SeeDs on the battlefields. It was common knowledge that whenever a SeeD fought another, the ensuing fight between them would be exceedingly bitter. There would be no quarter given or asked. Theirs was the justice of the battlefield, and the judges who watched over them were ones that have watched every hate-fuelled blow in the long and sad history of Terra's races. This was the primary reason why Colonel Gortar, Armadeus's superior, had demanded an explanation on why the Dark Templars could not bring to him one living SeeD under Ishtar's employ. Lucifer left Gortar a chilling reminder of where the war-hardened colonel stood, "The laws of the military arm of any of Terra's armies have no jurisdiction over the SeeD organisation, colonel. The justice that governs SeeD is a far cry from the idealistic rules that military justice has. You want a live SeeD, colonel? Go and get one yourself. You will not succeed, believe me. SeeD never surrenders, and never fails. You may die in the trying."

Armadeus had never seen his superior look quite so scared. Gortar was a hard man to spook, but even though he had been stony faced, the shaken look in the older man's eyes told him that he took the younger man's threat seriously. The LRM division major pinched his eyes. That Lucifer is a killer – and it showed in every move and every look. He was the living embodiment of the Special Forces he was a part of. Death Angel – the raven winged heralds of the Grey King.

No one had ever escaped the Grey King's heralds.

Moments before, he had transmitted an order from Sand Scorpion Sector HQ that was charged with the defense of the border cities of three frontier provinces, and had been left aghast at the contents of the order. Killing was part of the uniform, but murder was another thing entirely. Even soldiers from both sides were understandably hesitant about getting civilians involved in their fights. Closing his eyes would only remind Armadeus of the order's murderous contents. What kind of man would give an order such as this? At times like these, the major wondered if he had been fighting for the right side. For all the fact that the higher-ups and the politicians say that it's all right, brave and noble to defend Aphrodia from Ishtar's imperialistic ambitions, they certainly do not see the hundreds and thousands of men and women that fought and died across the length and breath of the frontier.

Armadeus had wanted to ignore the order and act as though the transmission had been lost due to the sandstorm that was currently raging outside his Hellstrike Command LRM. He wanted to just target the military installations that the SeeDs had painted. But, he knew he could not. The reason why was right next to him. Clad in the red-and-silver of an Aphrodia staff officer was Captain Aliesh'ara Malicesaber, a representative of the Sector's G3 Operations Branch. Though the drow woman held no command responsibility in the current mission at hand, Armadeus knew that she was there to keep an eye on him.

With her pony-tailed white hair and dark, ebony skin, Malicesaber was a striking woman who carried herself with absolute confidence that bordered on arrogance. Armadeus caught sight of the woman glancing at him, a mocking smile curving her lips. Malicesaber did not like him. That was fine by Armadeus. The feeling was mutual.

Malicesaber was the archetype of a drow of the Midnight Kingdom – haughty, beautiful, arrogant and downright deadly. Even the drow members of Armadeus's LRM division kept Malicesaber at arm's length, knowing that that was one cobra that could bite as she squeezed the life out of your heart. For once, Armadeus decided to heed the advice of his subordinates.

_Drow are always trouble._

Why the hell did he never listen to his own advice? 35 years of living and he was still this stubborn? Why the hell didn't he just say no to her accompanying them? Armadeus rubbed his forehead in exasperation and mock despair.

"Major," spoke the Staff Sergeant that manned the targeting console, "we have 25 minutes before we launch the missiles. I suggest we get some coffee to soothe our nerves."

"Please do, Mike. I need something to soothe my nerves before it cracks. The damn sandstorm is not making it any better. I don't need a nervous breakdown before I retire."

Grins and chuckles emerged on every member of the Hellstrike crew. They were just as nervous as he is. Who wouldn't be? They're hefting multiple two-kiloton Death Hand warheads capable of blowing them straight out of Terra's orbit into the moon. And they were three hundred kilometres from any hope of support. If this mission went out the window, there was no chance in Hell anybody was going back to Aphrodia alive.

The communications officer spoke up then, "Major, we've a reply from the extraction team on Corundis."

Armadeus felt the humour drain from his system, "Let me see it, Alex."

"Yes, sir."

Armadeus read the message on the screen of his command console. It was a reply to the transmission that he had sent out earlier. The major closed his eyes and say, "Commit it to our logs, Alex. And, Michael…"

The staff sergeant stopped in his tracks, "Sir?"

"Make sure my coffee has some punch to it, okay?"

"Right on, chief."

_**Ishtarian Command Centre Epsilon Bravo, near the Dockyards, 2214 hrs**_

_**16 minutes to mission extraction**_

"Damn it…finally!" Kurai swore under his breath as he watched the once-active missile Turrets disable one cluster after another. The words 'Missile Turret sensors disabled' flashed continuously on the 3D holo-screen. It had taken the Scarlet Guard tech-specialist more than three minutes to bypass the considerable security systems before he could start getting down to work. First, he had had to disable the sensors on the missile turret clusters that were a threat to the entire kill-team before he could go about taking care of the other mission objectives. Now, Kurai had to disable the automated shore defences and the anti-missile system that protected Shining Hill in an anti-LRM umbrella.

"Kurai…wait. There is something I want you to do. Can you make it look like the systems have not been tampered with?"

"You mean make them look like they're still functioning properly, Jaheira?"

"Yes."

"Give me a while. The security on this base is tighter than I anticipated."

"Five minutes, Kurai. No more."

"Hai, hai. Hold on to your horses, Jaheira-shirei. I'll do my best," Kurai gave her a thumbs-up gesture and started working on the worm program, his fingers flitting across the portable arm-top's keyboard with lightning speed. The cabling from his arm-top computer was linked to the command console's I/O outlets. Kurai knew that with the advanced technology of his Garden even the most potent security defences would be penetrated, given time. He looked over the now-silent command centre where the bodies of the command crew laid in pools of blood, their bodies blasted apart by Jaheira's silenced pulse carbine and Kurai's bolt pistol. Jaheira had enveloped the entire room with an _Aura of Silence_ enchantment before they rushed in and killed every one of the command crew. They had been horrified to see an enemy kill-team this deep in the fortress they had thought impregnable. Kurai looked sideways to the body of a dead female Ishtarian. She had been the last one to die. Before the plea to spare her life had even left her mouth, Jaheira had shot her point-blank. It had been foolish for the bridge bunny to beg for her life. The Death Angel had none to give.

Even now, Kurai heard Jaheira informing Lucifer that the way to the Shining Fortress was open and that he could fulfil his objectives. He would go into the Fortress and accomplish the mission the same way that Jaheira had done. The Death Angel would come and go silently, leaving no trace of them ever being there.

"Kurai, have you disabled the security measures yet? We're running out of time."

"Damn it, Jaheira. Why don't you take over this, then? This is Shining Hill we're talking about here. I'll need another minute outside of the five you're giving me before I can cripple the entire Shining Hill defensive network."

Jaheira pursed her lips with impatience, but maintained her silence. She watched the door carefully, maintaining her spell in case some unfortunate fool strode into the Command centre. So far, there had been no one. But, with the seconds counting down, it was only a matter of time before the Aphrodian Strike Force decided to take their chances and launch the Death Hands. They were deep in enemy territory and had used a Leviathan-class dropship to ferry them in, further increasing the chance of detection. All of them knew that the mission was risky, but it was one that could make or break the defences of the Aphrodian frontier.

But to Jaheira, it was just another mission. She had been in so many of such ever since the 12th Founding of the Death Angels that she had lost count of how many. Her former instructor, Helden Efreeti, now long dead, had told her that to enter the Death Angels was something that only the most crazed of SeeDs would do. To the eyes of many Dark Templars, it was a death sentence. The Death Angels took on assignments that even the elite Shadow Templars or the Midnight Guards that formed the bodyguard of the Garden's mysterious Forgemaster or the High Templar would have dared undertake. Jaheira had few friends, but that was expected. Those that she had, Jaheira treasured beyond all words. She remembered their faces and their names; remembered how they lived and how they died. It was because of two of her friends' deaths that their children are now SeeDs. She had brought them into a lifetime of war by the stroke of a single tragedy.

To think that heroes have been hunted down like criminals made Jaheira rail at the injustice of it. Dart Spiritblade and Rose have given up so much. One sacrificed his father, demon-possessed by the Archangel of the Darkening Sun, as well as his childhood sweetheart while the other played a desperate gamble with fate by betraying the first in a hopeless prayer to redeem a former love lost for over eleven thousand years. To think that Jaheira stood on the very same continent that the Second Dragon Campaign had exploded with all the violent fury of the First. The price paid to crush the Fallen Solar and his corrupt lieutenants had been a high one indeed.

Two Dragoons – one of them the same childhood sweetheart that Dart had loved had perished beneath his own sword. Shana had asked without words why, and all Dart could answer was with his tears. Likewise, his own grandfather took the blow that would have killed his grandson. Haschel, Dragoon of the Rising Thunder, took his son-in-law's daemon sword through his body before he was immolated. To this day, Jaheira could still remember the terrible scream of rage Dart had unleashed. It was a sound that haunted her nightmares.

13 of the 15 Death Angels of the 12th Founding perished in the ensuing battle that followed. Only she and her ex-husband, Khalid, would emerge with the Dragoons from the ruins of Summer's Tide in Ekyolan-Falaria. There, Death Angel and Dragoon parted ways. Though their deeds would ensure them all a place within the pages of history, Jaheira and her former husband, along with Dart and Rose, chose simply to disappear. There was enough pain to be borne by the survivors.

A vibration on her gauntlet broke Jaheira out of her train of thought and caused her to look down upon her gauntlet. Kurai was doing likewise. There were ten lights in all, each signifying an objective. Only four have been lit. The first belonged to Daleon and Alise, who have been charged for the targeting of the starports. The second belonged to her and Kurai, who would disable the base's defences and paint the Jehovah Uplink station for destruction. The third was for the Mobile Suit factory – that could be taken out along the way as the kill-team headed for the evacuation zone. The fourth one was for the assassination of General Trevor and his family. Uncompleted objectives were red; completed objectives turned green. The fourth light was green.

Lucifer had accomplished his mission.

Jaheira looked at her watch. 2225 hrs.

Damn it.

"Kurai!!"

"Give me a few seconds. I'm almost done…"

Jaheira swiftly reloaded her pulse carbine and swept towards the door. Kurai followed her instants later, "Done, Jaheira-shirei. The base defences are disabled, and the Ishtarians won't even know. Let's paint the Jehovah uplink station and get the hell out."

_**Shining Hill dockyards, 5 minutes to mission extraction**_

Lucifer looked at the Mobile Suit hangar cum barracks, his amber eyes blazing beneath the helmet he wore. The armoured building stood beside the Mobile Suit factory, the fourth target that the kill-team had been designated to paint for destruction. The armoured doors of the hangar had been drawn close before the sandstorm descended and enveloped the Ishtarian military port with its elemental fury. The storm, combined with the invisibility his Shadow Cloak offered, allowed him to infiltrate the Shining Fortress virtually unhindered and undetected. Before he had gone for his primary objective, he had first silenced every member in the Fortress's main security room. It had taken five minutes, and with Siren's _Silence of Death_, no one had heard him empty a storm bolter into the room and kill every one of its twenty-man crew. When that was done, he turned the security consoles into melted slag. There would be no record of the atrocity that would happen afterwards. He did not want anyone hunting him or his compatriots down. Those who killed his parents had contacts everywhere. Only then did he go to where the General and his family were housed.

Lucifer withdrew his plasma pistol and screwed on the special frequency laser painter. As he adjusted the settings, he noticed that the pistols barrel was still warm. It should be. It had been less than ten minutes since he had turned what had once been a pleasant family dinner into a bloody wreck of a nightmare. Like when he had slaughtered the members of the security office, Lucifer had enveloped the entire area in total silence before breaking down the doors. In that dome of silence, he could imagine the sounds of his plasma and bolt pistols opening up in a deafening roar as he sprayed the room with death. The general had been the first to die, followed by his three servants, who were sent sailing or reduced to piles of melted flesh. It was the part in killing Trevor's wife and his innocent, crying children that had been the hardest. The sight of their unheard shrieks, of Trevor's wife mouthing pleas to spare them, need not be spoken. Siren's _Silence of Death_ made it all unheard.

He had mouthed to her, "I wish you and your children had never been in here."

To spare them now was to jeopardise the entire mission. How he wished that the slain general's wife and children had not been dining with him when he struck. It was pointless now. With a single word, he paralysed them, freezing them where they were and lowered the bolt pistol to their heads. He saw the terror upon their tear-streaked faces, their mouths unable to voice even a single word due to his spell. He flipped his bolt pistol to full automatic before depressing the trigger and emptying the entire magazine.

The screams died in their frozen throats, joining the hundreds that Lucifer had sent into oblivion.

"Forgive me."

Those two words felt like acid. He had spoken those words so many times that it no longer held any meaning. It is pointless making excuses or asking for forgiveness. They could not bring back the dead or wash his bloodstained hands clean. They would not silence those angry ghosts whose eyes demanded answers that he was unable to give. And those ghosts were legion. He had killed many in the missions he had undertaken. Sooner or later, he knew that retribution would come crashing down on his head. When it does, he will be ready to look it in the eye. A killer must be ready to one day face the Reaper; that was what retribution is.

As he lanced the laser-light targeter to the hangar, he waited for targeting crosshairs in his helmet to turn gold, indicating that the target had been marked for destruction. With its close proximity to the Mobile Suit factory, it was without a doubt that both could be destroyed by the ensuing bombardment that would soon come. A slight movement made him whirl around, the taloned gauntlet flashing on his arm as he swung his left hand about, black lightning crackling about its armoured, serrated edges. The black violence in his heart roared with a ferocity that dwarfed the sandstorm that raged about him, promising a swift, cruel death on the unfortunate soul who found him. A slender, armoured hand swiftly caught the gauntlet before it completed its deadly arc with a firmness that he knew by touch.

"Stand down, Lucifer," a familiar voice spoke softly into his ear, "It's me and Kurai."

Lucifer's only reply was to glare at Jaheira through his helmet's vis-links. He did not speak as he re-started the whole procedure and snapped the targeter again on the building. Jaheira spared Lucifer a glance as she and Kurai kept watch. They had run through the breath of the base to get to the last objective, only to find that Lucifer had beaten them to it. It took Lucifer half a minute before the building was painted, as he deactivated the painting laser and turned to face her in brooding silence. In that silence, and without seeing his face, Jaheira could sense the quiet torment raging beneath his emotionless façade. He was a Death Angel, she knew, and would not let his emotions get in the way of his mission. There would be time enough to let it loose once they were safe – if he ever did.

Jaheira spoke into her comm-link, "Daleon, we're running out of time. Where are you?"

The reply was immediate, "Three minutes. Alise has gone to paint the other starport."

"Make it two."

"Affirmative. Maintain radio silence. Wind out."

"The sandstorm is dying out, commander," said Kurai, "Quezacoatl tells me we will have a clear escape route within 10 minutes."

"Excellent."

Jaheira turned towards Lucifer, who merely nodded. It was time to call in the extraction team to get them out the moment the storm clears. They managed to infiltrate one of Terra's most formidable strongholds. Now, they had to get out. Jaheira pressed another button on her gauntlet, sending a signal to the extraction team. This was going to be close…

At the moment General Trevor Shorefeld and his children died, something rippled in the Abyss, stronger and dissonant than any death that would allow such a ripple. It was a sign. Though there have been many such signs of a death by the hand of a kin, this one was special. It marked something. A harsh whisper echoed through the wails of the damned souls and the unholy realm's sleeting winds.

_It has begun. The first sign of the broken Tower has been fulfilled._

It was a voice that three women, one an ascendant Sorceress, the other an ancient Priestess of a Daemon Prince and the last the ruler of an ancient, Holy City, heard. Their thoughts, however, mirrored each other's, _This is only the beginning._


	8. Chapter 6

_**Chapter 6: A man's decision**_

_**Archangel Duchy Embassy, Deling City, 24**__**th**__** July, Year 4051,0830 hrs**_

Lord Amaleth Starfire was clad in his red evening robes that was lined with gold thread, forming elegant whirls and designs that bespoke of the ambassador's great personal wealth and power. His great white, angel wings rustled from the morning wind as he opened the glass doors that led to the balcony. The sun was already high in the blue skies and while such a sight would have cheered him on a daily basis, today was not one of those days. His head – and ears – were still ringing from the severe admonishing from his country's archduke he got 12 hours ago. To say that the ruler of the Archangel Duchy was displeased with his actions during the Galbadian Parliament meeting – the first ever since Richter Deling became the incumbent president of Galbadia – was an understatement.

Aldrus Beldaran of the Beldaran Royal House and Amaleth of House Starfire had been close once. Back when they were younger, Amaleth and Aldrus had trained and studied together. They were almost inseparable and Aldrus had come to rely on his counsel. But, even then, there were things even the best of friends could disagree upon – and it was that one thing that caused their friendship to splinter. While Amaleth did not view his race as being superior to the human race, Aldrus was indoctrinated from birth to believe that the winglies – and the drow – were superior to the more numerous humans in every way. It had been the cause of many arguments between them, and the breaking point had been when Amaleth had chosen to leave the Duchy to fight in the Usurpation War.

The argument between them was so furious that even the Royal Guard knew that to remove Amaleth by force would spark a fight between them and the Starfire House Guards that accompanied him. And the words, though spoken over half a thousand years ago, were still fresh in Amaleth's mind.

_"I will not go and fight the humans' war, Amaleth. This is their war and it has nothing to do with the Archangel Duchy."_

_"Aldrus, the war will come to the Duchy. Have you seen what the Dominion has done to the _entire_ continent of Zelgardis? Are you going to just stand here and become a passive observer while Terra burns around you?"_

_"I am the ruler of the Duchy, Amaleth, not you. If I choose to involve myself in the humans' war, I will be sacrificing my people to the funeral pyre! I will not got and ask my people to die for a pathetic race that defiles Terra with its mere existence!"_

_"Defile Terra…?"_

_"Yes! Look at what they have done! If the Goddess Hyne has ever made such a mistake, the creation of Man was it! What good have they done ever since their creation? They're better off killing themselves than ravaging this planet which is rightfully ours!"_

Rightfully ours? Since when had Terra ever been rightfully theirs? Only once, perhaps, during the time before the First Dragon Campaign almost twelve thousand years ago, did wingly rule extend over all of Terra. Even the mighty drow kingdom of Midnight fell under the shadow of the Holy Wingly Empire, and for the first time, the light of the Goddess Hyne shone bright to burn away the darkest shadows. The Wingly Empire, built upon the toil of giants and heroes, fell because of the arrogance of those who were entrusted its future. The irony of the Fall – as the destruction of the Holy Wingly Empire was called in the Archangel Duchy – was that it was not the hand of the humans or the drow that brought it down.

The winglies themselves paved the road to their own destruction. A thousand years of oppressive rule came to an end when a bloody provincial revolt exploded into a full-blown war. The drow and the humans, enemies for centuries uncounted, took up arms and fought against their oppressors. Theirs was an anger that had been pent-up for centuries and the determination to put right every wrong their oppressors have committed for the past thousand years made them unstoppable. The Fall saw to the birth of the Dragoons, human and drow warriors who were bonded with the might of the Ancient Dragons to create champions of strength and power equivalent to rival any Archangel. The culmination of the Dragon Campaign had seen to the destruction of the fortress of Summer's Tide in Ekyolan-Falaria and the sealing of the Fallen Solar Melbu Frahma. The price to defeat the Fallen Solar had been horrific. 10 Dragoons fell under the might of the Fallen Solar and his lieutenants. Their leader, Zieg Spiritblade, sacrificed to bind the demon and his lover damned to hunt down the Silver Children so as to forever deny the Fallen Solar a foothold in the mortal plane.

The victory won at so high a cost all those millenias ago proved to be hollow. Because the hero who caged the Fallen Solar returned eleven thousand years later to set in motion the events that would ignite the Second Dragon Campaign. What motivated the fallen hero, no one would know. Perhaps no one outside of the Dragoons that defeated Zieg Spiritblade ever would.

And all of this happened twenty-five years before the Sorceress War.

Amaleth sighed. Though he had broken his friendship with Aldrus, he knew the main cause leading to that breakage had been the conservative winglies in the royal court. They had influenced Aldrus long before Amaleth became his friend. The belief that the wingly race was the Goddess's gift to the world was so arrogant that it was utterly disgusting. Not even the drow could make such a claim. The doors to his private chambers opened, and Sarles entered, bearing two cups and a kettle of tea. It was their morning tradition between Amaleth and his retainer to go over what was to be done for the day. The former would ask the latter for his opinions before he came to a decision. For all his faults, Sarles possessed an intuition that made a shinobi of the Kamiya Combine look like an amateur. It was that intuition that got Sarles bionic limbs instead of six feet worth of earth.

But, even so, from time to time, Sarles's wounds would pain him. This was one of those times. And, Amaleth, his rapier wit being one of the things even his wife found irritating, sparked to life.

"You are dragging a groove through the floor, Sarles."

"Shut up, you twit," the ex-soldier snapped as he placed the polished oaken tray on the nearby table and prepared the tea, "It's not as though yours don't! You were far more reckless than I was back in our younger days! I've never stopped wondering how in Hyne's holy name did you walk away from the Usurpation War without one or two bionic limbs!"

Amaleth grinned inwardly. It did not show on his face, but his eyes were sparkling with hidden laughter. These slash and parry wordplays were good for livening up one's morning. And he needed a good livening up, since the past few days have been…painful. He wanted to put the events back in the Galbadian Senate meeting behind him, but this was something he could not just throw aside without paying the Daemon Princes for it!

It didn't stop him from wishing for it, though.

"Aldrus was not happy," Sarles said as he sat down. It was a statement, not a question.

"No, he wasn't. I could not avoid the consequences of my actions, Sarles. Aldrus wanted me to support the expansionist policy that Galbadia was advocating and I have defied my own Emperor's will in public. He keeps telling me that if I had supported the decision, the opposition would have been severely crippled."

"Severely crippled? Does Aldrus even know how powerful General Caraway is politically? The man may be all military, but he has enough supporters to pull the rug from under the Deling Family if he so chose."

"And that was what I was trying to tell Aldrus. Not only that, I tried to explain to our Emperor that Galbadia is still in the middle of healing. By Hyne's Halo, Sarles, it's only been a year, maybe more, ever since Vinzer nearly took Galbadia – and the rest of Terra – to Hell with him! If Richter Deling does something stupid, there won't be a Galbadia left."

"No wonder you took close to four hours trying to convince him that what you did was necessary; a mistake then would have cost everybody politically. What did the Council of Elders say?"

"Three-quarters of them expressed their 'displeasure' all over me, and my ears are sore from their rhetoric. If I listened to them further, I would be able to replace every book in my library. They see no sense save their own. But…" Amaleth's lips curled into a crooked smile, "there were those that agreed with my act of disobedience. A majority of them were of the old guard that served under Aldrus's father. The younger ones in the Council tried to shout them down, but they have made their point."

Sarles raised an eyebrow, "That being?"

"They told Aldrus that he can go to Hell."

Amaleth's retainer chuckled, "The older members of your Council of Elders have balls made of brass. They're not even intimidated by a man 'chosen' by the Goddess to be their ruler when they know all too well that his second brain is in his backside."

Amaleth laughed outright at the coarse humour that he found so refreshing. Indeed, the older council members, more devoted to peace, were those he mingled with freely. Though, they had no qualms about going to war when their homeland was threatened, they preferred peace. It was the younger council members that had forged the alliance with the ambitious human country of Galbadia. Only once did both the Midnight Kingdom and the Archangel Duchy renounce their alliance - when Vinzer Deling came into power and the Sorceress Ultimecia reigned as Galbadia's ruler.

"The other good thing is that Salvanna has been in a very bad mood since the senatorial meeting two days before. I swear that I could almost hear her shrieks of rage and the insults heaped on Richter's manhood from here!" Sarles added in an off-handed fashion, his face so serious that Amaleth almost believed him. He quickly put down his cup before he dropped it. His ribs were starting to hurt from the earthquake-intensity of his controlled laughter. Oh, the sight of Salvanna angry was something to cherish for all the times she made _him_ angry.

And speaking of which…

"Sarles, I have some problems that need solving – urgently. My actions may well have put me in disfavour with the factions that support Galbadia, even though it is for my country's own good."

The humour between them evaporated like the morning mist, and Sarles leaned forward intently the moment he recognised the seriousness in his friend's tone, "I'm listening."

"Though it may not be Aldrus's way and it may be beneath him to threaten me, I fear for my wife's and my daughter's safety. They may well suffer from the wrath of the followers of those erstwhile factions that believe only in war, and will seek to hurt me through them."

"Will they be that foolish, Amaleth? I doubt it. Trying a direct attack will only arouse the ire of Elder Shiva Lisselight. Her Guardians, like her, are unforgiving of any transgressions of the law."

"I know that, Sarles. Shiva's Guardians are competent and I trust both her and them to keep law and order in my homeland. But what if my enemies decide to go around that law to strike at me? They is no shortage of people willing to do the deed for hard Gil, Sarles."

Sarles's eyes narrowed into cold slits and his bionic hand left claw marks in the polished wood of the chair. His less-than-calm reaction was one that was mirrored beneath Amaleth's calm façade. It took a full two minutes for Sarles to fully regain his composure and another before he could speak and think clearly, "Will Aurelia and your daughter be safe, Amaleth?"

This was the one reason why Amaleth had chosen to hire Sarles as his retainer than the hundreds who flocked to the embassy in hopes of getting a comfortable job. The crippled ex-soldier was a good man and the bionic limbs were testament to an unshakeable loyalty and a willingness to make the sacrifices demanded of him. The Galbadian military had discharged him into Amaleth's waiting arms.

"Aurelia is quite capable of protecting herself and I will see to it that she joins me here in Galbadia as soon as possible. No doubt, she will have made her own deductions when she watched the news."

"Indeed. What your daughter, then?"

A sad look crossed Amaleth's face, as his eyes landed upon a framed picture of himself, his wife and his daughter during a family outing two years ago. His daughter had been 98 years old then, two years short of her reaching her first century of life. Innocent, sweet Aerie, whose eyes have yet to see the cruelty of a world, and yet, whose heart was strong enough that she would take up arms to protect the weak and the helpless. Her golden hair fell to her waist, and locks of it had been braided with crystal beads that shone as bright as her blue eyes. Her innocent, happy smile as she clutched at the straw hat from flying off her head caused Amaleth to close his eyes in an effort to ward off the tears that threatened to surface. He did not want Sarles to see him cry, though he knew that the latter would understand.

His daughter was studying in the University of Andosia on the eastern province of the Andosian Federation capital, pursuing her craft in Guardian Force summoning spells and was actively engaged in academical pursuits. She hoped to earn a place in the Council of Elders in her homeland upon her graduation, so as to aid her parents in their endeavours. Aerie had idolised him as her role model, Amaleth knew, and being the only child of one of the Duchy's war heroes bothered her not at all. It cheered Amaleth to know that his child chose her own path without the need to emulate her parents.

_This entire incident could blow over, _Amaleth thought, _but I'll be a fool to think so. Richter Deling is no different from his brother where ambition is concerned. The only difference is that the younger Deling is neither stupid nor careless. The man is a sphinx – I cannot tell what he plans. But, I know one thing is for certain – he is not well pleased with what I have done. I feel uneasy. I don't want to see more deaths but…why is it that what I have done to deter a possible war seems to be for naught?_

"Amaleth?"

The wingly ambassador was jerked out of his thoughts as he looked once more at his trusted retainer, "Yes?"

"I will see to the matter of Aerie's safety. You see if you can convince the Council of Elders back in the Archangel Duchy not to shoot themselves in the foot. Far be it my place to say, but few members within the Council – or the Emperor himself – have ever stood on the battlefield."

"True. I'll see what I can do to convince them not to give support to any of Galbadia's expansionist policies. But…they're impatient, Sarles. The conservatives within the Council are getting impatient – and to convince them to be patient is as deadly as a battlefield. But, you were saying? I didn't quite catch the first part of your sentence."

"I said I will handle the matter of Aerie's safety, myself," Sarles repeated as he drank the forgotten cup of tea, wincing at the fact that it had become cold, "And I _will_ get the best – provided you're willing to pay for it."

Amaleth wondered if his retainer was joking despite the seriousness of the situation. If Sarles had a flaw, it was that grim streak of humour, "I have no choice but to trust you in this, Sarles. Though I have a feeling you will rip me off in the process of doing so."

"If you consider the life of your daughter, I think the price is right, Amaleth."

Amaleth steepled his fingers, "Are you going to hire professional bodyguards to watch over my daughter? That would be too conspicuous, and lend weight to the fact that her life may be in danger because of my actions."

"No, Amaleth. Should the High Council back in your homeland decide to send in a SeeD - even one - to assassinate her, those bodyguards will be nothing better than paper dolls. No, what I intend to do is hire another SeeD, and one that can defend her against the rest."

Amaleth looked intrigued, and asked, "Who will you hire? Squall Leonheart of Garden Balamb? Honestly, I can think of no one more capable to look after Aerie."

"No, Commander Squall is too famous after his battle with the Sorceress Ultimecia. He is too conspicuous. I will look over our options, Amaleth, and hire a good SeeD from one of the Gardens to protect Aerie without her knowing."

"I trust you in this matter, Sarles. Don't fail me in this. If someone is to pay the Daemon Princes, it should be me. Hyne knows I've done enough sins to have an accounting of them, but my family does not deserve to pay for _my_ sins. Least of all, Aerie."

"We all commit sins, Amaleth. It depends what was the intention behind the sin. Your sin may be disobedience and treachery, but it was borne from the fact that you do not want to sacrifice lives into the Scarlet Rider's bonfire. Goddess knows we've already seen that happen one time too many."

"They may come for us, Sarles," said Amaleth, picking up his tea-cup once more, "And they will send their best to do me in. They still hold me in that much fear and respect."

"Good. We've made our graves, Amaleth. We made them long ago. Now, the only question is how we choose to rest in them. We've only postponed the inevitable, old friend. Sooner or latter, like you said, there will be an accounting."

Amaleth could only nod. There was nothing else to be said.


	9. Chapter 7

_**Chapter 7: Laid plans**_

_**Somewhere on Terra, 24**__**th**__** July 4051, 1800 hrs**_

Once more, at the heart of a shadowy citadel, the Shadow Council convened once more under the light of torches that made the dark shadows of the meeting chamber dance in an unholy frenzy from the unnaturally cold draft. Summoned, as always, by their enigmatic leader, to hear her news so that they could carry out their assigned tasks. All were clad in black robes, men and women alike of Terra's three major races, each bearing a ruby-inlaid and silver pin in the shape of a grinning skull and drops of blood swirling around it. They waited patiently for their leader's arrival in disciplined silence.

Finally, she came, striding out of the shadows, clad in elaborate robes that made her stand out amongst them. Her lips were pulled into a tight smile of subtle triumph as she strode to the head of the circle. If any of the high-ranking Inner Circle members knew why she was smiling that smile, they kept it to themselves. The auburn-haired former High Priestess of the Cult of Murder faced them, silent, regarding them all, "The president of Galbadia has been most interested in what we have to offer him. He tells me that there are those amongst his military arm who support his plans but that they are held back by General Caraway and his loyalists.

"Are you going to go ahead with this, Most High?" a voice rang out, as the speaker detached himself from the rest, "Are you going to support Galbadia?"

"I intend to, my brother. They have the power we need to accomplish our goals of resurrecting our long-dead master. We have waited long enough. It is time for us to act. I would have chosen to wait longer to put more pieces in place but now we no longer have the luxury. The Throne of Blood has revealed itself in our Master's domain."

She let the words she spoke linger, sensing the shock in her followers.

"How…?" one woman choked out, breaking through the stunned silence that had blanketed the chamber.

"I can travel to our Master's citadel in the Abyss, my sister, or did you forget?"

"But," another asked, "The Blood Throne appearing…Most High, that will mean that the Prophecy…"

"Has already begun," the High Priestess finished, "Yes. The clock has already started to turn."

The only way it will appear is if one of our Master's bastard Children – one of sufficient blood strength – was slain by another of superior or equivalent blood-strength. And we all know that there are none left with such strength outside of Zieg Spiritblade, his son and his simpering family – and those we have slain. All those that remain – even if they do intermarry – will never have the strength

"Yes. But some of them have respectable blood-strength and one of them was chosen to be our master's anointed sacrifice to be the key that will start the clock."

"My lady," spoke one of her Inner Circle, "there is a question that begs an answer."

The High Priestess nodded her assent, and the Inner Circle member continued, "You say that someone of sufficient blood-strength is to be the sacrifice. The prophecy stated that it can only begin once another with blood-strength greater or equal to the sacrifice's blood strength performs the deed of murdering his blood-kin. Do you know who they are?"

"Unfortunately, my brother, I do not know. But, I will find out in due time. I am just as curious as to who had such strength of blood to actually cause a ripple that was felt throughout the Abyss. The only ones that I know with such strength was Zieg Spiritblade, his son and his family – and all of them are dead. We can discuss about this matter latter, but for now, we must turn our attention to more pressing matters."

Every Council member nodded as the High Priestess began, "As I have said earlier, I have made a pact with Richter Deling to show him what he desires to have – the power to fulfil his dream of making his country the dominant power on Terra. He lacks patience but not intelligence. He knows that to make a wrong move now would cost him his position. Thus, to unite Galbadia, he will need to go to war."

"And how do you propose we do that? Any such moves on our part, my lady, will still seem like Galbadia's move. The region watches Galbadia's every move through a magno-scope."

"Indeed. But, more to the point," another robed member spoke, "what is it that you are offering Galbadia? You are not one to give empty promises, Most High. If Galbadia intends to become Terra's dominant power, what is it that you offer them that will allow them to become that?"

The auburn-haired woman remained silent for a long time, clearly debating if she should reveal what exactly had been the bargaining chip that she was offering Galbadia.

"Most High, you did say once before that there would be no secrets hidden among us. All of us here are trustworthy – and know that a swift death is the price of having too loose a tongue."

Dark chuckles erupted from more than one throat.

"As you wish. Have you ever heard, from the days of the Usurpation War, of the Sa-matra battle-platform?"

A universal gasp of horror and awe echoed throughout the confines of the meeting chamber. Even the Inner Circle were reduced to staring at their leader, unable to even voice their shock. There was no one on Terra who did not know – and tremble – at the name of the mightiest star fortress to be built in Terra's history. A massive battle-station that was as large as the wrecked continent of Centra and whose power was immortalised in the pages of history as a war-weapon whose destructive capabilities left scars on Terra that would never heal.

The Sa-matra star-fort was the ultimate battle-platform in which the Imperial Dominion had used in its bid to bring Terra's nations under a single banner. The dream of the Holy Wingly Empire reborn. The inferno of the Usurpation War scorched half of Terra and sent billions to their deaths. It was a war that gripped the entire planetary system. Not even the neutral colonies and countries were spared the Dominion's imperialistic dreams. They had but one choice – submit to Dominion rule or face its wrath. The proof of that wrath was evident in the charred continent of Zelgardis where a once-rich bio-system had been reduced to a lifeless desert and the shattered lands of the Andosian Island Chain.

And if that was the bargaining chip that the Shadow Council's leader was offering Galbadia…

"From the looks on your faces, I take it that most of you still remember the stories from the history books. You see, the Sa-matra platform is not only a mere star-fort. It is what was within it that would have given not only Terra, but the entire system, over to the Dominion. Within the containment fields of the Science Facilities within the Sa-matra are creatures known as the Zerg," the High Priestess began.

"Zerg? I have never heard of such creatures."

"Of course, you haven't. But the Imperial Dominion has. The evidence is hidden in the data network deep within the very bowels of the Imperial Palace. So, unless anyone here has an agent of lofty status within the Palace, you'll have to rely on my words."

"You know the capabilities of this Zerg, Most High?" one of the Inner Circle asked.

"I do. Suffice to say, what I know is what the Dominion's scientists knew back then. The Zerg are a space-faring race of monsters and the main goal of their entire race is to assimilate every and all intelligent life forms in order to strengthen its race. It was clear to the Dominion then that the Zerg possessed the capability to supercharge the evolutionary process, to alter the genetic map of any sentient race. After a few generations of a race's assimilation, they bore no resemblance to their predecessors. The Zerg that the Dominion captured several years before the First Usurpation War had merely been a deep-space scouting force.

"The Dominion scientists and Tech-Priests ran experiments on them, in an attempt to harness a potential weapon that could be used to further the Dominion's ambitions. The Zerg are overall a psychic-sensitive race. The experiments performed on the drone proved that beyond all doubt. The drone was part of the deep-space scouting force and its purpose was for the gathering of resources, despite their ability to fire armour-piercing spines, than combat."

"Drones? Are you saying that they are like bees?" one member asked.

"Yes. The drone is seemingly one strain of the Zerg amongst many, for when the Dominion captured the scouting force, there had been others also."

"One amongst many?" one of the Inner Council spoke up, "How many strains of Zerg are there, my lady?"

"I don't know. The Zerg, like I said, are capable of super-charging the evolutionary process of any known species. There might be hundreds for all I know. The ones that protected the scouting force are but a small part of it."

"A thought that is unnerving. Unlike the denizens of the Abyss, who we can bargain with, these Zerg are beyond our control, my Lady. Giving Galbadia the Sa-matra I can understand, but giving them control of the Zerg is akin to having them try to chain the lightning," another member of the Inner Circle spoke, "How will you have Galbadia do that? Much of the technology that would have made it possible was lost almost 500 years ago."

"True. Much of the technology _was_ lost. The SCT template that is held within the vaults of the Imperial Palace in the Dominion is a broken chain. Without the links to forge that chain, it is useless. I have the links to that chain, brother, and have the ability to make it whole," the High Priestess replied with a smile.

Murmurs arose amongst the members of the Council. One of the Shadow Council members finally spoke, "If that is true, my Lady, why did we not use the Sa-matra and the Zerg to our advantage? With Terra in the palm of our hand, we could have accomplished our goals all the more quicker."

The High Priestess's smile became more sinister and those of the Inner Circle exchanged looks, knowing from experience that she had become angry, "True. We could. And reveal who we are to the Church of Hyne and the Church of Falaris. We would have been hunted down in an inquisition more merciless than the one we levied upon our master's bastard children. Can we challenge the assembled might of Terra, my brother? Even if we combined all of our influences, we can barely man the Sa-matra, let alone its defences.

"No. This chess game is best played by one who _has_ the power to play it. We are powerful, brother, but not _that_ powerful. This is a game for kings and conquerors. We can, however, determine the moves of the game. We tried to get our hands involved during the First Usurpation War – and we barely got out of the whole debacle intact as it was."

One of the Inner Circle spoke, "Most High…please remain calm. Our brother has brought up a very good question – something you shouldn't reprimand him for doing. Voicing questions as equals within this place, my Lady, is not only a sign of equality, but as proof of your authority. You say you can control the Zerg. So be it. Do _not_ fail," emphasising the not, "or this system will be a graveyard. You know much about the Zerg, Most High. Please continue. All of us want to know about these creatures."

The High Priestess turned to look at her wingly lieutenant, meeting his cold blue eyes that were hidden beneath the hood. He ruffled his wings, a subtle warning that told her it would be in her best interest to rein in her temper and answer the question. She nodded, her voice now calmer, the malice in it gone, "Most of you know how long I have lived. I was there when the Usurpation War began. As to how I knew about the existence of the Zerg, it is no different from knowing how many women one of us had been cozening to his bed."

Chuckles echoed in the darkness.

"I have, in my possession, records from the days when the Tech-priests discovered that the Zerg were psychically sensitive and had the ability to break down their own genetic code. To what they transformed into was an answer provided only when they used their Ghost operatives to fillet the drone's 'memories'.

"The drones were the workers of the Hive Cluster whose main tasks are to gather resources and transform into the bio-buildings that allow the Zerg swarm to strengthen and grow. All of this would be a done via psychic directive relayed by their 'Overmind' or a 'Cerebrate' via a flying, airborne commander known as an 'Overlord'.

"It is through the Zerg's psychic sensitivity that the Dominion would control them. That was why they created the Psi-Emitter. Had they completed it, there would have been nothing on Terra capable of _stopping_ the Zerg swarm. The world would have fallen under Dominion might. Ironically, it was the Psi-Emitter station that caused the biggest hole in the Sa-matra during the closing days of the Usurpation War and brought about the Dominion's defeat. They never had the chance to test their newest weapon."

A quiet silence gripped the Council and the High Priestess sighed quietly. Many a time on the holo-vid, war correspondents from that era kept the memory of the devastation that had been wrought during the two year-war five centuries ago alive. From the bio-weapons attack that left the continent of Zelgardis a fallow desert to the shattering of the country from which would arise the Western Andosian island chain. The culmination of the Usurpation War had been one of the most violent battles in the blood-drenched history of Terra. Led by the traitor general of the Dominion, Chapter Master Shateiel Muhammad Dawnblade of the Celestial Lions Knightly Order and a combined SeeD-Black Guard force broke the through the formidable defences of the Sa-matra star-fort in order to take it down.

The move was nothing short of desperate – and desperation drives men to insane acts of courage when they knew that their backs were to the wall. All the free nations had their backs to the wall – and the apocalyptic space battle saw to thousands of lives joining the millions that had died previously. And before the horrified eyes of billions, the Sa-matra was thrown into the warp. It was a good move on the Chapter Master's part to deny the Dominion or any other country use of both the Sa-matra and the Zerg.Unfortunately, it was not good enough. The High Priestess knew _exactly_ how to bring it back into the material world.

"Most High, are you sure you want to do this? Galbadia is not a nation known for being able to keep its word. Once they have the weapons you promise them, what makes you think they will not throw us aside? We would have outlived our usefulness," a Council member spoke.

"True. Which is why the Psi-Emitter SCT template will be our ace in hand in the event Galbadia decides to break its pact with us. I doubt, however, that Galbadia will betray us. The new president of Galbadia is not like his predecessors – he'll keep his word. After all, Galbadia will want every ally it can get when it challenges the Dominion eventually. The current Emperor of the Dominion may be pacifistic, but there are dozens of his generals who do not share his views despite their loyalty to him. Fear not. I will deal with Galbadia if they choose to break the pact they made with us. All of you will carry out your assigned tasks. When our master returns, we shall the world at his feet and he will reward us well."

"Praise be the Angel of Sacrifice!" the Shadow Council spoke as one, their voices echoing in the ancient darkness.

"May Bhaal walk with you. Now go and do as you have been told," the High Priestess returned as the Council members began filing out of the meeting chambers, leaving her with the members of her Inner Circle. She smiled sardonically. Bhaal was gone for eleven thousand years and the only thing the long-dead Daemon Prince left behind had been a black legacy that terrified generations long before the Age of Chaos ever began. The High Priestess turned her cerulean gaze upon a member of the Inner Circle, "I may have met with Richter Deling, but I have little knowledge of what has happened during the Parliament meeting he had attended. I know bits and pieces from the local populace but I'll need you to fill me in."

The Inner Circle member she addressed stepped forward, "I think you already know by now that President Deling is attempting to salvage the fallout of the disaster that his brother had nearly caused when he allied himself with the Sorceress. For this past year alone, Galbadia has been strengthening their grip on their off-world colonies in order to prevent any secessionist and rebel groups from taking advantage during the transition. He has succeeded in that endeavour, at least.

"You have met him, Most High, and thus I think you have come to the conclusion that Richter Deling is no different from his brother. Both want power. But whereas Vinzer was a _fool_, Richter Deling isn't."

"Perceptive."

"The new president of Galbadia knows that playing his cards now is to invite disaster. He does not have the support of his country's Warmaster and can no longer rely on the support of the Archangel Duchy. With public opinion of the Deling Family lower than ever, it will not take much to incite a revolt. Richter Deling will not risk it by supporting the expansionist factions within the Parliament that he covertly supports. It will seem that the thirst for power and expansion is not limited to Galbadia alone. The Archangel Duchy wants to return to the old days when they were the pre-eminent power on Terra. The Midnight Kingdom longs for the same dream.

"Salvanna Shaladrin does not have the influence that Amaleth of the Duchy has. The latter has a solid power base, politically _and_ otherwise. It is clear, however, that what he has done during the Parliamentary meeting has displeased many members of the Council of Elders in his homeland. Emperor Aldrus is…fuming, to put it mildly. The nationalist groups are quite literally seething in anger at what they consider a 'betrayal'. I would believe that Amaleth has received a good number of death threats or that he anticipates the danger his actions have brought upon him and his family. Some of my informants have reported to me saying that he has sent out his retainer to secure a bodyguard for his daughter who is studying in the Andosian Federation."

"Is he? Now this is interesting."

Indeed, the High Priestess saw an opportunity to sow the seeds that could lead to Galbadia's ascension – and hers as well. The first seal of the Prophecy had already been broken, and the prelude of the fall of Sorceress Ultimecia had already come to pass. She had studied the Prophecy texts for many centuries, never finding when the signs would come into perfect alignment – until now. The closest it had ever come had been five hundred years ago during the Usurpation War. All the signs had been there save one – there had been no Sorceress slain within two decades of that era.

The thought of the Daughters of Hyne brought up a _very_ good question about what to do with the current Sorceress who had inherited the might of Ultimecia. No doubt, Garden Balamb was keeping a tight lid on the fact that the lover of their Commander was a Sorceress. If the other Gardens heard about it, they would scream bloody murder. And the most delicious thing was this – she was the daughter of Galbadia's Warmaster. If General Caraway had a weak spot in his armour, it came in the form of his only child.

Should anything happen to Rinoa Heartilly, it would well rouse a sleeping dragon to a titanic fury. Richter was furious with Caraway for pulling the rug from under him – more so than he was with Amaleth – and his daughter's death would serve both her and Richter Deling. One, she would remove a possible obstacle – no, it was a major obstacle – to her plans. Two, it would send Galbadia's Warmaster into Richter's camp. If she planned the murders meticulously, she could pin the blame right onto the shoulders of the Imperial Dominion. There were a good number of Richter Delings within the Dominion who wanted the nations of Terra to be united under the Dominion banner and if Galbadia declared war on them, it would give the Dominion the excuse to come out in a holy war.

The High Priestess of the Shadow Council smiled chillingly as her mind contemplated the byzantine affair she had laid out. Plans within plans to the ultimate aim of her ascension as a Goddess. Not even dominion over the entire planet or the entire system could compare to becoming an immortal, all-powerful Goddess.

"Most High, there is one other thing I think you might like to know. I did some investigation on the Bhaalspawn bloodlines – and I have some interesting results you might want to see."

"Oh? Show me."

_**Balamb City, Forester's Bar, same day and time**_

Seifer entered the bar where his posse waited for him while he had been training on the fields outside of Balamb, slashing and parrying with Hyperion as though blocking strikes from an invisible foe he imagined to be Squall. It had been like this, he had remembered, when both of them had gotten their scars. When Squall performed his _Renzokuken_, and he had unleashed the might of his _Fire Cross_. The skies had been dark with storm clouds, unlike today, when he had trained in the light of the setting sun that glowed gloriously across the heavens. He sheathed Hyperion in its scabbard, feeling the comfortable, familiar weight of his trusted weapon at his side.

_I will be better than you, Squall. The next time, I shall defeat you._

Memories raced across Seifer's mind and he called for a drink. The bartender's eyes, as were every other man and woman's in the bar, were on the holo-vid, their eyes wide with shock. Seifer shouted, "Bartender!"

The man whirled around and looked at Seifer.

"Are you deaf? I asked for a drink."

"I'm sorry. What would you like?"

Though he disliked the tastelessness of water, Seifer knew that after the intensity of his training, it was perhaps the most advisable course of action. Taking alcohol would only make him thirstier.

"Water, and pull a jug with it."

The bartender left, and returned an instant later with his order. The bartender's eyes returned to the holo-vid, where he watched a reporter of the Continental News Network. Seifer saw Raijin and Fujin sitting on one of the tables, equally immersed in the small holo-vid on the table. He took the jug of cold water and the cup, and moved over to join them.

"What is so interesting that you did not notice me?"

Both of them jumped at Seifer's voice. Usually, it would be Raijin who would answer in his atypical stammers and excuses. But, this time, it was Fuujin who answered.

"WATCH." and indicated the holo-vid.

Seifer poured the cup and sat down as his eyes looked at the holo-vid. The CNN reported, a woman, was virtually shouting amidst the wails of ambulances and fire-engines that was desperately fighting the fire from expanding. He could see medics and orderlies treating the wounded, whose screams were deafened by the sounds of explosions from burning fuel tanks.

"This is Martina Severindale of the CNN, reporting live from the Ishtarian military base of Shining Hill, where an attack had recently taken place some six hours ago. The Ishtarians are still fighting the fires that have been caused by a long-range missile bombardment, and there have been hundreds killed in the assault."

The main CNN HQ correspondent asked, "Martina, has the commander been available for comment on this surprise assault?"

"Unfortunately, no. The infiltration force that had entered this base to mark the key buildings for the bombardment within Shining Hill had also gunned down the general and his family in cold blood. The guards within the Command Centre that acted as the residence of the Ishtarian General, Trevor, said that they had heard nothing - neither gunfire nor their screams."

"What?"

"Yes, Alfred. The Ishtarian General who was in charge of the campaign against Aphrodia, and his family, have been murdered. Sources say that it could have been an elite team of Aphrodian Commandos, but others say that it was a SeeD mercenary force."

"SeeDs? Are you sure? Which Garden? Balamb? Strider?"

"From what eyewitnesses and survivors of the bombardment said, I can only confirm that they were SeeDs. As to what Garden, I cannot say."

"How did they manage to escape?"

"Eyewitnesses say that five mobile suits - four Zakus, and one Leynos Assault Suit - flew in accompanying a dropship. They had unleashed a withering barrage and took out the Ishtarian mobile suits," Martina indicating the burning and wrecked robotic giants as the holo-camera followed her hand, its side completely blown away by railgun rounds, "that had been entrenched. Its pilots had been caught off guard, and even the one who was standing on duty could not warn his fellows in time when they came in. They were picked off within moments! The turrets had gotten off a few shots, but the Leynos had stood back and picked off each pillbox with seemingly blind ease.

"The security forces had rushed to the area to repel what they thought was the prelude to a sea-borne invasion. And hear this, the missile turrets did not open fire upon the advancing mobile suits as they flew in! Neither did the anti-missile system open fire when the Death Hands of Aphrodia incinerated half of the base! The remaining officers suspect that it had been sabotaged."

"Now, Martina, can you tell me - or at least - have one of the survivors try to describe the scene or show it to us via his in-built camera if he is a marine?"

"I can try."

The reporter ran towards a limping stormtrooper who was being supported by a medic and another soldier. He was a bloody mess and the side of his armour showed a wound that had nearly sent him into Astrophel's embrace. His remaining arm clutched the melted wreckage of what had been a hellgun.

"I'm sorry, but could you tell our viewers what exactly had happened here and who was responsible?" the reporter shouted, her voice deafened by wailing sirens, shouts and explosions. The medic and the stormtrooper's compatriot glared at Martina furiously, "The man is injured, reporter. This is not a good time!"

"Please sir, just a few words. What happened here?" the question shouted into the half-conscious soldier's ear. Despite his terrible state, he managed to hear the reporter and looked right into the eyes of audiences on and off Terra, chilling the hearts of many. It was the gaze of a man who had seen Hell first-hand and who had the privilege of meeting the Daemon Princes personally. From the wounds, he may just have done that. His voice was hoarse, and it was clear he was in a delirium, "We…tried to stop…him, sir. We tried…but he was so fast…and blood was everywhere…and…" and the stormtrooper collapsed, the ruined rifle he clutched slipping from his hands as he fell into a coma. The medic cursed as the soldier slumped. Turning to the other soldier, "We've got to get him to the nearest medical facility, quick or he'll die of blood loss."

"The nearest facility is…" the soldier shouted back and was cut off by a lieutenant shouting for everyone to take cover, his voice loud even amidst the shouts, "Take cover! The fuel tanks are going to go!"

The reporter was tackled by her own cameraman as she fell with a shriek, the camera the latter held giving the viewers a last look of the explosion that rocked the entire base before static blanked out the screen as it crashed onto the concrete road.

"Martina?" the newsman called, "Martina, are you there?" There was evident fear in his voice. He turned back to the camera, and spoke, his voice trembling, "We have currently lost contact with our correspondent in the Ishtarian base. We will get back to you as soon as possible. We'll now go for a commercial break as we attempt to re-establish communications with Martina Severindale."

Seifer turned towards his compatriots, "So? Ishtar and Aphrodia have been at war for ten years. This does not surprise me."

"It shouldn't, chief. But, the big guy and his family murdered? That ain't right."

"In war, there isn't a right or a wrong," Seifer snapped, "There is only the victor and the corpse."

_**Balamb Garden, students' quarters, same day and time**_

Squall Leonheart watched the news, as he surveyed the destruction. Even though it was limited by the camera view, he knew that the devastation was enormous. The Aphrodians had launched Death Hands, that deadly multiple-warhead heavy missile that had power enough to bring down a carrier, upon the base which SeeDs from another Garden had painted for destruction. Squall was not surprised that General Trevor had been slain, for the SeeDs who had orders to do so were paid to carry them out. What surprised and chilled him however, was the cold-blooded murder of the man's wife and his innocent children. But, despite this, he knew that the SeeD who carried it out was merely obeying orders. The cold, black heart of the SeeD mercenaries the world round was embodied in this act of pure...terrorism, for the lack of a better description. The cold, murderous heart of the SeeD organisation was hidden beneath the friendly, amiable facades of the young men and women who made up its ranks. It was known throughout Terra that the SeeDs were – and are still – the lords of the battlefield.

The irony of it was that a majority of the SeeDs were born on such battlefields. Its gleaming ranks were drawn from orphanages on and off Terra, the recruitment posters on every such institution promising a life outside of multiple foster homes and the chance to make a destiny of their own. It is, without question, a cruel destiny. Human rights activists and organisations have long cried bloody murder over the SeeD organisation's founding a thousand years ago; those cries have yet to abate and grew with intensity with each passing century. The organisation had no right whatsoever to turn young orphans into killing machines.

_Choose your path – or someone will choose it for you._

And therein lies the irony of it all – the children the organisation recruited came from those who were willing to become SeeDs. There was no contract made in blood the moment they entered the orphanages. To become a SeeD was the choice of the individual.

And sometimes, there was never much of a choice.

The choice of a certain death and a probable death was but a slender division. Squall knew more than a few SeeDs who had this choice presented before them. These individuals were dangerous, even for a SeeD, and they often – though not always – formed the elite vanguard of a Garden. Even Squall had to admit that the choices offered to him had not been so difficult. Even so, he could not control the outcome of the choices he made. The SeeD commander laid his gunblade on his bed and stripped his sweaty training garments from his body. A brief look at the nearby mirror told him all he needed to know about his life. Lean, muscular and scarred from the long years spent on countless battlefields and tested against a Daughter of Hyne. He ran a hand on one such scar. It was but a faint memory now, but Squall could still remember the chilling frost that not only turned his blood to ice, but sent a soul-deep chill that pronounced Astrophel's Judgement. Rinoa's scream, Ultimecia's cold sun-gold eyes, the mocking laughter of Seifer, the screams of the crowd…all of that was seared into Squall's soul.

And that moment was ever so clear…

The door's musical chime broke him out of his thoughts, alerting him to the presence of a familiar person who would come to take him to dinner, as was her daily tradition, before he missed it. Squall glanced at the holo-vid as the connection with the CNN reporter at Shining Hill was lost in a sea of static before the scene switched to the newsroom. The newsman, Alfred, was clearly worried as he turned to face the camera once more. Squall turned off the holo-vid before he called out, "Enter."

The door hissed open to reveal Rinoa, standing there in a SeeD uniform. She had a playful smile on her face that he found comforting. It was a smile that could, for a brief moment, make him forget his troubles. Rinoa strode into the room, the light within bringing out the chocolate highlights in her raven-coloured hair. It was longer now, Squall noticed, and Rinoa was starting to look more and more like Matron – though she lacked the latter's refined demeanour. She had matured much and yet there were some parts of her that never changed.

"Like my new outfit?"

Squall's straight-slashed lips curved upwards in the fraction of a smile that she caught. "I knew you would. Dress up. It's time we met Zell and the others for dinner."

He nodded, "Some privacy, if you don't mind."

"Oh, but I do," she giggled. Squall gave her a glare that spoke volumes of his annoyance. He knew that the sight of him without his shirt on was enough to make girls – and no few women – drool over him. And being his girlfriend, Rinoa had the privilege of seeing the _whole_ thing – something which made many of them insanely jealous.

"If you do not leave, I will deposit you on your backside outside my door."

Rinoa pouted. Squall never made empty threats – even though his grey eyes were laughing. Either she left with grace and dignity to allow him to change, or else.

"Meanie," she fired back, but her eyes too were laughing with that familiar amusement as she left, the door hissing shut behind her, "I'll meet you in the canteen."

Squall saw her off before moving towards the shower. His mind was focused, however, upon the news event. Even amongst the SeeDs, the Ishtarian fortress of Shining Hill was a legend onto itself. It had earned a well-deserved reputation for being nearly impregnable and the endeavour of levelling the base had cost many military commanders dearly. Even in the days of the Second Dragon Campaign, the mere mention of Shining Hill was a bitter lesson to the commanders of the Imperial Dominion about underestimating the sheer firepower and courage of its garrison. It was a lesson that the Aphrodian frontier commanders have learnt time and time again.

Direct force and normal infiltration methods left the Aphrodian military one alternative to perform the impossible task of levelling Shining Hill and smashing its impregnable legend – hire SeeDs. There was no question that they hired the best. The aftermath was more than proof of that – that and the fact that Aphrodia had succeeded in the endeavour of killing the Shining Hill legend. This was one incident Ishtar would not take lying down. Sooner or later, Ishtar would retaliate.

He started drying himself. The other matter was the Garden Student Exchange Program. Sometime late next week, representatives from Gardens on and off Terra would meet within Garden Balamb. Selphie had taken charge of the whole affair with her typical cheer. Squall expected close to 300 guests within the Garden and he hoped that there would be enough space. He sighed. Rinoa was helping Selphie – the chances of it being a failure was remote.

_**Esthar Presidential Palace, 1830 hrs, 24**__**th**__** July 4051**_

Laguna had watched the news in abject fascination. He had heard of Shining Hill's potent defences, but never had he ever dreamt of the scale of the devastation that had been unleashed. The sight was one he was familiar with. The sight of dead bodies, the burning buildings, the screams and moans of the badly injured, the wreckage of military vehicles and the fused, molten skeletons of mobile suits - he knew all of this when he once served in Galbadia's army. It was still happening out in the borderland province of Legland in the Dollet Dukedom. The news spoke much of the latest happenings around the globe. There was a war raging still between Ishtar and Aphrodia, which had lasted for ten years, and which may yet continue. Ishtar's ambition had forced the war, and Galbadia's ambition to unite the continent had sparked off the conflict with Dollet. Even though the latter had embassies of both Ishtar and Aphrodia, the two ambassadors simply refused to speak to each other. One viewed the other as a traitor, the other viewed the Ishtarian ambassador, Odessa, as an example of the megalomania of Ishtar.

Laguna strode over to the shelf of drawers in his room, and opened up the highest level, within which held a picture he had cherished over the years. Of when he had been younger, more foolish - and had been married to Raine. His looks, now as then, were still dashing, but lacking in the cold fire that burned in his son, Squall. Yes, the boy was growing up into a fine young man, without his help or Raine's.

But, he wanted Squall to stop hating him. But...how can he ask such a thing? By dint of his choice, he abandoned his son to save his only daughter. And Squall hated him for that. For abandoning his mother and him. For one wrong that can never be righted. Raine had died giving birth to Squall, and she refused to give him his father's family name and gave him hers instead. To the eyes of some, Squall was Laguna's bastard.

Few people lost more than their consciousness when Laguna was through with them.

Laguna had watched Squall carefully when he had travelled with his son, fought alongside him. Always, he seemingly fought alone, even though if he was in the company of others. But when his team-mates were around, he fought with synchronicity that was borne out of years of training. Squall had been colder than ice, and could even freeze it, until Rinoa came along. She was the image of Julia Heartilly, Laguna's first love, before General Caraway married her. Warm and gentle, yet teasing and caring, she had managed to break the ice with her free-spirited ways, and drew Squall into the soft, warm embrace of her wings. She had been described by more than one as an angel princess. Yes, the title suited her, much as it suited Raine.

He laid the picture back into the drawer, and drew in a deep breath. He never had much time to think about his son, the past, Ellone, his mistakes...Raine. Damn it.

"Papa?" a voice called out from outside his door as Ellone stepped in. She was a feminine image of Squall, her features gentler and far more lively, her hair cut short like some fairy out of a children's story book.

"Yes?"

"I'm here the fetch you for dinner. Uncle Kiros and Uncle Ward have been waiting for you for the past half hour already."

"I'll be there in a minute."

Ellone stepped in, and it was as though she could smell Laguna's thoughts and dreams in the wind that blew in from the open window. "Are you thinking about Squall, father?"

Laguna remained quiet.

"Not exactly."

"Don't lie, father. You were never good at it. Don't worry. Squall can take care of himself," Ellone smiled, "He always has. By and by, did you see the news today? Kiros and Ward are quite literally glued to the television."

That wasn't a revelation. Shining Hill - one of Ishtar's most formidable border strongholds - destroyed and decimated overnight, was something that would awe even his two compatriots. He still had trouble believing that it had actually happened. "I'll try to catch the nine o' clock news. Maybe, they would have managed to re-contact their correspondent there. I'm curious on who had actually done this."

"Could it have been Squall's…?"

"Don't talk rubbish, Ellone. Squall is not a murderer. He may be hard but he is not a cold-blooded killer."

"Not yet."

"Ellone…what are you saying?"

"I'm just worried, father. Sometimes…I have bad dreams about Squall becoming what SeeD is renowned for."

Laguna stood up and put a hand on his stepdaughter's shoulder, "Don't worry, Ellone. Squall won't become like me when I was younger. There is a leash by the name of Rinoa to keep the wolf chained."

"But, Squall is not you, father. Rinoa is not Auntie Raine."

"Yes, Squall is not me. And that is why he is stronger. It is only a nightmare, Ellone. As long as Balamb Garden keeps silent about what Rinoa is, it should be all right," Laguna smiled.

_**HQ Sector Scorpion Command Centre, city of New Tanis, Aphrodia, 1900 hrs**_

"I am very pleased with your work, Lady Malevolyn," the fat general spoke, looking at the auburn-haired half-wingly up and down in a lascivious way that made a feeling of cold disgust writhe within the SeeD's stomach. It was all Jaheira could do not to sneer in disgust. Her second-in-command stood next to her, less menacing outside his black power armour. He was clad much like her, wearing the durable robes of her Garden that had been adapted by the Holy Orders of the Church of Hyne. The only main difference was that instead of crosses, the robes were adorned with the menacing sigils of Falaris's Ministry of Darkness. One hand rested upon the hilt of a katana that did not make the armed guards within the room any less comfortable. Jaheira followed in his example, bringing her power sword with her to the meeting with the Aphrodian general.

"To think that you could have killed him and his entire family, without any of the guards knowing you were there was utterly delicious. I can almost see his expression. I don't think he could believe that you had managed to penetrate that deep into Shining Hill! Ha!"

Jaheira glanced at her second. Not a hint of expression marred his icy façade and the gaze that he levelled the general was flat and emotionless. It was a contrast to the expression he wore on the dropship as they escaped from Shining Hill instants before Aphrodia's Death Hand missiles struck the targets the infiltration team had painted. Such was the look of self-loathing and rage on his face that even the cheerful and lively catgirl who piloted the dropship, Imoen Kiske, left him alone. If the Death Hands had levelled half the base, the sheer scale of her second's fury would have levelled it completely.

How his call-sign and his birth-name contradicted each other. Jaheira's blue eyes drifted to the sheath where his name was engraved in gold upon the varnished wood. Its intricate words spelt her second's birth name in Kamiyan – _Reiha Shigami_ – even though it was Darmenian in origin and after the name of the Imperial Dominion's most reviled traitor.

"And you, Captain Spiritblade, live up to both your reputation and your call-sign. Many of my men say that you are a cold-hearted bastard who carries out your orders without question. The completion of the Shining Hill mission clinches that argument. I don't care what they say – a man who can think for himself and yet carry out my orders is a man who has earned himself a place in my good books. You have done well."

A muscle in Jaheira's face twitched, and she quickly suppressed the rage in her before her sharp tongue went out of control. Her second-in-command responded to the compliment with a simple nod – a gesture that told Jaheira that he wanted to be out of the general's office before he proceeded to carry out the unspoken threat of carving the general into small pieces.

Jaheira shared her second's desire to leave as well.

"As to the matter of our payment, general," she asked, "When will it be given to us? You have delayed "

The general looked nervous. "Well, there has been a slight delay due to..."

He was cut short as Shateiel's katana lashed out with a speed beyond human and slammed through the seat, stopping a mere hair's breadth from decapitating the general. The stroke was like a thunderclap, and Jaheira knew that it was but a simple matter to finish the job. Shateiel was looking for the excuse to kill him, and he may just get it if the general so much as produced another excuse. The guards had their weapons out and the barrels of multiple hellpistols were pointed at his back. A slight twitch of the blade had the general waving his hand frantically to his guards to put away their weapons.

"Tell me, general," Shateiel spoke in an icy voice, "Do you want to die? Your government has hired us for the job and has promised to pay us without delay once the mission was completed. See to it that our payment is given to us before we leave Aphrodia, general."

He drew closer in closer, "Because if you do not – I will personally see to it that you join General Shorefeld and his family in hell. Do I make myself clear?"

The general swallowed a lump in his throat and realised that he had been holding his breath. He spoke through lips that had turned dry from sheer terror, "Yes."

With a simple flick of his wrist, Shateiel withdrew his katana and sheathed it, "Good. Now, to other matters."

_**Ishtarian High Command, Capital of the Ishtarian Empire, Ishtar City, 2300 hrs**_

"Are you sure that what I am seeing is real?" Commander Vince Dallard asked, watching the footage from the destruction of Ishtar's most potent border stronghold of Shining Hill, several minutes before the Death Hands of Aphrodia had decimated the base. The footage he was seeing had yet to be revealed to the general public, and the commander of Ishtar wanted to make sure that if it were to be revealed, it would be censored - heavily.

The Ishtarian Gundam mobile suits had been an SCT-built for durability under any condition, and was as good a design as the Zaku, but its only disadvantage was that the M15 Railgun had shorter range than the Zaku's M13 Railguns. The only advantage the Gundam had over the Zaku was in close combat, for the former incorporated a massive NeoSteel shield. But, it obviously did not work against the Leynos's Deathwind artillery cannon. The other reason that the SeeDs mobile suits came into the installation almost without resistance bespoke of the fact the mobile suit pilots on duty had been slacking - an offence, in this case, that would have led to an immediate court-martial. Fortunately for them, they were already dead in the first moments of the assault. The other thing that disturbed Dallard was that the SeeDs' mobile suits flew into Shining Hill _without _being detected by the radar and scanners.

Someone had sabotaged the communications and radar equipment. Even the missile turrets on the shores did not fire. Also, Dallard knew that there had been a malfunction in three of the missile turrets on the north-eastern side of the base, and from the inspection team, they had reported that the sandstorm had caused several of them to short. The rest, however, had been working. So, why only these three within this particular area?

The answer hit him with the force of a full-swung warhammer.

The SeeDs had penetrated the perimeter by knocking out three of the sentry systems, and making it look like it was disabled by the sand-storm's EMP!

He saw five SeeDs escaping as they charged out towards a quickly descending dropship, guarded by the five mobile suits. The Leynos landed and turned the huge Deathwind Cannon on the nearby aircraft carrier and blasted a huge hole in it. A roar within bespoke of the Deathwind round detonating the stored missiles and ammunition within the carrier. They fought their way out, weapons blazing, running for the dropship. Men and women dropped like flies from the disciplined volley they laid out, and pinned the rest. The Vulcan cannons mounted on the mobile suits flashed, laying down covering fire. One of the security force's LAVs, equipped with a twin-linked lascannon, raced towards the dropship. The crewmember, he could tell, intended to cut off the SeeDs' only chance to escape. The LAV was aiming its lascannons at the dropship as his team-mate used his driving skills to elude the rain of fire from one of the mobile suits' Vulcan cannons.

One of the SeeDs who had been firing a bolter that he had taken from a slain marine that laid in a bloody heap before him became aware of the imminent threat, no doubt reported by the mobile suit SeeD pilot who was having a hard time eliminating it. Dallard zoomed in on the footage. The man was clad in a suit of Mark IV power armour that was a relic of the Usurpation War.

His head, hooded, turned towards the imminent threat, and Dallard felt his blood freeze. Even though he could not see the SeeD's eyes, he could sense the terrible, murderous intent that was soon proven true. Briefly, the man stopped firing, as one of his comrades rushed forward and covered him, pinning down the squad of soldiers he had been occupied with. He raised one talon-shaped, armoured hand, and Dallard saw sinuous, curling amethyst crystal that stretched along it and tore out the enormous power weapon from the body of the slain soldier. The crystals on the gauntlet lit up with an unholy light before streaks of black lightning streaked across the great, bloodied weapon and smashed the incoming vehicle into flaming wreckage, making a mockery of the LAV's plasteel armour. Even as the vehicle was destroyed, Dallard swore he heard a peal of maniacal - near joyous -laughter mingling with the explosion and the deafening sounds of gunfire.

There, the footage ended as a piece of the LAV the black-hearted SeeD had destroyed smashed into the security camera. But, the feeling of terror that he masked with an expression of indifference did not fade with the end of the footage. Five SeeDs. All it took was five SeeDs to destroy one heavily-guarded military installation and slaughter a general and his family in cold blood.

And, no doubt, those cold-hearted bastards in Aphrodia had used a _lot _of Gil to hire these SeeDs. But, in the end, the Aphrodian rebel government had succeeded in their endeavour of not only destroying the near-impregnable base of Shining Hill but also killing one of Ishtar's most prominent commanders. So be it.

Aphrodia was not the only government that could play this game.


	10. Chapter 8

_**Chapter 8: In the past as it is in the present**_

_**28th July, Year 4051, Garden Falaris Training Hall, 2330 hrs**_

The training halls of Garden Falaris were enormous and the shadowed alcoves which held the statues of Slayer and Scourges which had borne witness to the thousands that had trained within them. Prayer scrolls fluttered gently from the statues, wafting gently in the circulating air. Battle flags a thousand years old held within force fields to prevent their ageing bespoke of the Garden's martial tradition.

The moonlight that shone through the reinforced plexi-glass and stained glass-murals gave the training hall a cathedral-like air that was both stern and austere. Normally, at this time of night, the training halls were often empty.

Two streaks of flashing silver and the sound of crashing steel, however, said otherwise. Two figures stood facing each other, weapons drawn and in combat stances. One was a tall, dark-haired and well-built youth wielding a greatsword, his body gleaming in the moonlight. The other was a blonde-haired half-wingly, crouched several feet away like a stalking tigress, holding scimitars that gleamed with razor sharpness. She watched her prey with feral wariness, waiting for the right moment to strike. The prey-thing stared back at her with the same feral intent, a clear indication that the tables could be easily turned. The hunter could become the hunted in but a brief moment of hesitation. That enormous blade that her opponent held was not as heavy as she would have originally believed, considering the way he moved and fought. Only another member of her strike force could have wielded that blade with such ease if not grace – and that man was easily a good foot taller and fifty pounds heavier.

The woman dashed forward, raining blows with ferocious precision, hell-bent on disarming her opponent before he brought that heavy weapon up. He swept up the blade and swung it, timing it at the perfect instant she lashed out. The force of the blow sent her sailing, and she somersaulted backwards before the return stroke cut her in half. The blades they both wielded were real and meant for combat, and every stroke they traded for the past two hours were ones that would have killed them many times over if they had not been deflected or avoided.

Frustration and pride crept into the woman. Her opponent had not disappointed her. All the years of her training him had not gone to waste, and it had shown. Amber eyes glared at her beneath obsidian bangs and glowed in the shadows, a sign of the Beast within the man's soul that was kept shackled through sheer force of will. She had seen the effects of those shackles being broken before and the aftermath would look like an off-the-scale earthquake had hit the area.

The young man charged forward, twisting as he leapt towards her, his greatsword drawing a spiral of sparks as he brought the blade crashing down with a thunderous crash. The woman leapt out of the way swiftly before leaping forward, intent on taking advantage of her opponent's misstep. She launched a savage kick, intent on taking his feet from under him and put him in a position where her superior reflexes would allow her to bring an end to the duel.

That is, if it worked.

She glimpsed the feral grin before he used the sword as a lever to somersault out of the way. She leapt back instants before the sword cut the air where her head used to be, slicing off strands of her blond hair. She catapulted backwards as the stroke reversed into a straight thrust where her heart was. The woman's lips pulled back in a feral snarl of fury as she spun forward, accelerating her movements with a low-level enchantment so as to strike before her opponent could react.

_By the Goddess, this had better work!_

Her scimitar became a gleaming arc of starlight aimed at her opponent's throat. She realised all too late that there was a similar streak of silver arcing towards her unprotected throat. Both blades stopped mere inches from decapitating the other's head. By this time, both of them were breathing heavily, staring at each other. The result was unanimous.

The duel was a draw.

Jaheira drew in a deep breath and withdrew the scimitar. Her opponent did likewise but his expression told her that she had won the duel regardless of the outcome. If it had been for real, both of them would have been dead anyway. Dark eyes freed of the Beast met Jaheira's blue eyes, "You've been refining on _Celerity_-based spells, haven't you?"

_As always, his perceptions, even in battle, never ceases to amaze me,_ Jaheira thought as she nodded. Shateiel lacked the mastery of sorcery that Jaheira had acquired over the years as a SeeD and she had learnt that a low-level spell such as _Haste_ can easily turn the tables on a superior adversary. A walking tank hefting a thunder hammer is not much of a threat when he or she is a head shorter – literally. Thus, as a rule of thumb, Jaheira had several such spells memorised and scrolls ready to use at a moment's notice. Though, as proven earlier, even without the use of such spells, Shateiel had the reflexes of a wingly sword-master. He certainly moved like one.

Jaheira moved towards the benches where their training bags and scabbards were located. She sheathed her weapons after a brief inspection to see that there was any damage. Shateiel did likewise before wrapping a towel about his sweaty frame. Without his robes on, the half-wingly woman could see the life history of the young man beside her. His body was criss-crossed with many scars and faint markings that bespoke of a life spent far too long on one battlefield or another. His flat gaze told all that life had given him a fixed deck and demanded that he won the game or perished in the attempt. Jaheira had never stopped mourning her young protégé's lost innocence. All of it had been washed away in blood, tears and gunfire. The half-wingly commander closed her eyes, wondering if there was any way to turn back the clock. She had seen Shateiel and Zieg when they had been children; that they were cute had been no argument. Those children she saw playing at the feet of their parents were a far cry from the young men both have become. Both have borne witness to the cruelty, and have become jaded to it. Jaheira pulled the zip of her training suit lower, letting the cool night air caress her skin as she wiped the sweat from her brow with a towel.

"You know, you really scared the living daylights out of me back in Aphrodia when you nearly separated that general's head from the rest of his body. I half-expected us to be shot immediately – or arrested the moment we left the building," Jaheira said.

"If he tried, I'd have gone back in and finished the job, Captain," came Shateiel's cool reply. Jaheira fell silent, knowing that her second-in-command was more than capable of carrying out his threat – guards or no guards. The same murderous look that had been on Shateiel's face as the strike team escaped from Shining Hill was there when he almost murdered the Aphrodian general. Had the general so much as given more excuses or reinforced them, there were no prizes on knowing what would happen next.

"Are you still angry about the Shining Hill mission?" she asked him.

No answer – that meant yes.

And Shateiel's eyes were starting to turn to that cold amber shade. Big yes.

"You have every right to be angry. No self-respecting SeeD would go about butchering innocents if they cannot help it. We have a mission to accomplish, and so we shall. That is all there has ever been to it. We do not discuss the moralities of our missions with our employers," and Jaheira's voice softened, "I know it was difficult accomplishing this mission. I know. Mercy is something that must be alien to a SeeD, for we all know that to be so is but an invitation to put one's own foot onto the ferry. It is something, however, that must not be forgotten – lest we lose our humanity.

"But, in the end, it comes down to this – choose between the mission and the lives of your brothers and sisters or your morals. You know the answer to that decision – otherwise you wouldn't be here. The decision never gets easier – in fact, it never does. The moment it ever does is a telling sign that you are no longer capable of feeling pain – your own or another's.

"But, what if you did choose morals? I would be dead, you would be imprisoned awaiting execution, and the Death Angels would lose its commander and its second-in-command. Our Garden can ill-afford such losses. You are not allowed the luxury of being selfish."

A long silence.

"What would have been your choice, Jaheira? In my place, what would you have done?" Shateiel asked.

"I would have done the same thing. The choice you made will be the one I would have made. The pain you bear is the same as I would have borne. Why? Because I am still human enough to feel regret. I would have avoided wanting to kill Trevor's wife and children – but you know as well as I do that they signed their death warrant the moment they dined with him," Jaheira whispered, "You're not as cold as others would believe. I know this. I raised and trained you to what you are now so that you can survive. And that is the whole game – survival. Orphans and volunteers who become SeeDs have one thing in common – they refuse to die easy."

"That part I can relate to."

Jaheira sniffed, "And proven more times than I can count. If you've died so easily, you were almost no worth saving."

Shateiel smiled, then, "I see. I'll do my best to disappoint you."

Jaheira almost chuckled, "I'll be turning in. Don't let what happened in the Aphrodia mission bother you," as she slung up her bag and belted on her scimitars before striding out of the training hall. Only once the hydraulic doors hissed shut did the half-wingly woman slump against the wall, letting the mask fall away. She felt the self-loathing of what she had done to the two children she had raised. Every sin that they have or ever will commit was because of what she had moulded them into. Hers was a sin greater than theirs.

Jaheira knew and remembered some of Terra's most ancient legends that have become mere fairy tales in the thousands of years that have passed into antiquity and knew that one of them was related to the two children she had raised. Long after the feudal darkness of the Age of Chaos passed into legend, the name of Bhaal, the Angel of Sacrifice, 5th Daemon Prince of the Circle of 7, was still remembered. By the Goddess, over the centuries, there have been novels and movies about the Daemon Prince – and none could compare to the horror of the real thing. Even now, the atrocities committed by the Children of Bhaal were used as stories to scare small children into obedience.

And to think that historians debated whether or not such an Age had ever come to pass or was merely a fairy tale. If they had seen or met Shateiel or Zieg the moment the Beast within them was unleashed, they would realise that the reality was more horrifying than any fantasy that their minds could conjure up. If power were measured in terms of generation, Shateiel and his younger brother would have a rating that would put a hole in the roof. And the moment their control slips, the Beast within them would come out howling pissed. Jaheira had seen it happen and thought it no laughing matter.

The first Rage that overcame Shateiel and Zieg was during Time Compression, and the ensuing destruction saw to a considerable portion of Shudra City being turned into a wasteland. The 2nd time it happened was when Shateiel and the entire Death Angels had been fighting in Suldanesselar. In the past year alone, Shateiel had lost control close to a dozen times, and his brother had only lost it three times. Zieg may have a firmer rein on the Beast, but not his elder brother. Shateiel was the very embodiment of the unit he was part of – the unit Jaheira led herself led and had been part of long before the two brothers had been born.

She strode down the empty hallways.

Death Angel.

Garden Falaris's shining elite – Astrophel's Chosen champions. A unit that had been assembled from the best and the bravest of Garden Falaris's Dark Templars to undertake the most hazardous missions known to the SeeD organisation. Jaheira and Khalid were the last survivors of the 12th Founding that had been decimated during the 2nd Dragoon War. Jaheira chose to resurrect the Death Angels; her ex-husband formed the Crimson Lightnings that his Shateiel's younger brother, Zieg, was part of. The mere thought of Shateiel's golden-haired younger brother was more than enough to make Jaheira smile. A total opposite of his brother, Zieg was playful and passionate, and he had a fan-group that made him their role model. Even when he was young and studying to be a SeeD, many of Jaheira's fellow instructors said that Zieg would grow up to be one hell of a heartbreaker.

He lived up to their expectations. Zieg went through girls the same way his brother scythed through missions. Warm and friendly, Jaheira understood the girls' attraction to him. Whether as a friend or a confidante, Zieg knew all the right words to say to take away the pain and lessen the burden. Zieg had contacts and friends aplenty both in and outside of the SeeD organisation – and many would raise hell if anything happened to him.

A quiet presence alerted Jaheira to another's presence. The soft, near undetectable rustle of feathers, and that familiar aura told the half-wingly commander who it was that hid in the shadows, "Come out, Khalid. Step out where I can see you."

Khalid stepped out of the shadows, arms crossed over his chest. He was clad in robes that bore the markings of one who belonged to the Garden's Inner Circle and had a long-sword belted around his slender waist.

"Perceptive as always, Jaheira," the Judicator commented, and his eyes took stock of his ex-wife, "I take it you have been training with him?"

"Indeed," Jaheira replied, sensing the disgust that emanated from the man before her.

The moonlight cleared the clouds and Jaheira felt the familiar awe that had made her fall in love with this man…long ago. Khalid was handsome. With golden-brown locks, deep amethyst eyes and his soft, feathery wings, Khalid looked like the Angels of legend. Khalid, like Jaheira, was a half-wingly. The presence of his wings bespoke that the wingly blood in him was stronger than his human one. But, even though Khalid looked like an angel in every way, there were times he did not act it. Jaheira could easily say that from first-hand experience.

Khalid's stern gaze met Jaheira's unflinching ones. Inside, Jaheira knew that this was going to lead to an argument. A person with the least amount of common sense could easily avoid it, but Jaheira was damned if she let Khalid get away with the last word. She would not tolerate Khalid telling her how to live her life, especially after all the pain she had been through.

"Is there something you want to say, Khalid? Or will you just stand there staring at me?" Jaheira asked thinly.

"Don't flatter yourself. I've seen much more than that, really."

"Keep this conversation short, Khalid. We do not wish to be seen by him."

"Why? Afraid that he will cast you aside like you did me?"

Jaheira's eyes flared in rage, one hand tightening upon the scimitar that hung belted around her slender waist. This was the one reason why Jaheira avoided her ex-husband as much as possible. He never failed to bring up the matter of their failed marriage, and always he made it look like as though she was the one who had ruined it. Catching Charessa, another half-wingly, in his bed was all that it took for Jaheira to end it between them. Only after the divorce did Jaheira discover her husband's many affairs.

It had taken Jaheira all of her discipline ingrained into her not to march up to him and blast his face off with the nearest available weapon. That discipline served her well now.

"Don't open old wounds when they are already scars, Khalid. The matter – or anything – between us, is long over. It is pointless to even speak of it," she spoke, her voice as frigid as Shiva's own domain.

"And why not? Are you afraid of being called a whore by everyone else in Garden Falaris?" Khalid asked, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall, "It is no secret what the both of you do in private. How is he? Better than me?"

Jaheira's lips curled in contempt, "What I do in my private time is my own business, Khalid. I care deeply for Shateiel and Zieg, for they were the children you and I could have had – had you remained loyal to your oaths."

"Ah, so speaks the voice of wounded dignity! Your children, you say? Did you not hear what I said? It is no secret that Shateiel is your lover – the 'son' you raised taking my place in your bed. You are bedding a devil, Jaheira."

The Death Angel Commander glared at her ex-husband through shadowed eyes, a fearsome sight that had left many younger Dark Templars shaking. It was the gleam of cold steel and winter hurricanes. Many a time, Jaheira had wondered whose fault was it that the love between her and Khalid fell to ashes. Maybe it was her fault, for she had spent much time raising the Spiritblade brothers and their 'little sister', Imoen Kiske, preparing them for the day they would become fully-fledged members of the Garden. Mother, wife, sister – and lover to one of them – Jaheira had been all these things to them. Once upon a time, Khalid had also been an important part of their lives – which was why they still treated the half-wingly Judicator with respect. Even so, the respect that they gave him was a guarded one. They knew that the relationship between them had soured terribly.

"Are you jealous, Khalid? It ill becomes you."

Khalid's eyes narrowed, and he turned about, staring at the moon that swam upon a sea of clouds. His hands were clenched behind his back, telling Jaheira that she had struck a tender nerve. _So, he still has the Death Angel discipline, _she thought.

"Maybe I am jealous," Khalid began, "but that is not the point as to why I'm here. He is a Death Angel, Jaheira. Do you even understand the implications of what that means? Have you forgotten the lesson our instructors drilled into our skulls when we first came here? 'Do…"

"…not come close to anyone'. Yes, I remember," Jaheira finished, "But we are still human enough to love and desire warmth, Khalid."

"Is he even human? I've read through the reports my subordinates have brought to me about the Shining Hill mission. He is the one who assassinated General Trevor – and gunned down his family, correct? Some of my contacts in Ishtar have sent me pictures of the dining room they were in – the entire place was like a slaughterhouse."

The glare that Jaheira had been directing Khalid sharpened, causing the latter to flinch.

"That is beside the point. Have you forgotten the motto of SeeD, Khalid? 'SeeD takes no prisoners, and never fails'? You and I have done much of what he has done in the countless battles and missions – carry out our orders without question. We were paid to do so, and we did it without remorse or hesitation. We never cared who our targets were, only that they be eliminated like animals we made them out to be. Our enemies and targets were faceless; we cared not that they were living people like us.

"If you and the rest of Garden Falaris intend to keep pointing fingers, we had best remember that four of those fingers are pointing back at us. If you want to find someone to blame, then look no further. I made the Spiritblade children into what they are today. But, back then, did we have any other choice? Certain death and probable death – these were the only two choices offered to us. They lost their parents, Khalid, before their very eyes. That night is a night seared into their souls. Even now, I fear for the enemies that hunt their parents might well still be searching for them.

"No, Khalid. What they do now or later is _nothing_ compared to what we have done before. Can you remember the Fjordia Mission? Or the Galcandor Siege? Or the purging of the _Blessed Messenger? _Our deeds are bloody beyond words, Khalid. We are the _true_ Angels of Death."

Khalid's anger drained out of him and the blood left his face. Even after all this time, Jaheira knew that her ex-husband still remembered the many missions that gave the Death Angels their dreaded reputation and name. The silence between them, in one of those rare times, held no animosity for wrongs done previously.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was free of malice and anger, "No matter how much you try to protect him, Jaheira, it is unavoidable that he will die like the rest. I'm telling you, Jaheira – not out of jealousy or anger – that keeping a distance between both you and Shateiel is for the best. I know that you love him and that your life is but a meagre exchange for his. But, what if he thinks the same and chooses to surrender his own life for you? What if he chooses to love another?"

Jaheira strode past Khalid, halting briefly, "Then so be it. Regardless of whether he returns my love or gives it to another, I want him to live a life free of war. I will not let him die until he sees that future, Khalid."

"You 'will not' allow it?" Khalid's tone became bitter and mocking, "Jaheira, we are SeeDs. Every mission we go out on is to dance with death, and we may go up against former allies when the former enemy calls upon our services. One false move, one misstep, a moment's hesitation and we die – and no one will care. Remember this, Jaheira. Shateiel is a Death Angel – and that means that his life expectancy his hideously short."

Jaheira found that she had nothing to say. There was truth in the words Khalid had spoken. The half-wingly Judicator turned about, "Remember what I have said," and strode off into the silence. Jaheira, now alone, gazed upon the moonlit ocean of clouds where the flying battleship that served as home to the Dark Templars sailed on.

"Yes, Khalid. You are right about that. But he will not surrender his life so easily."


	11. Chapter 9

_**Chapter 9: Treasure Hunt**_

_**Galbadian military starport, Deling City outskirts, 30**__**th **__**July 4051, 1200 hrs**_

The Galbadian Military Starport was an enormous facility, located 15 kilometres from the edge of Deling City. It was the largest military starport in Galbadia's 23 provinces and was the primary Headquarters for the Galbadian star-fleet. Rows of starfighters and the countless hangars used to house the Mobile Suits and battlemechs that was the armoured vanguard of the Galbadian army. The military starport was heavily guarded as a result. Perimeter defences and heavy patrols would ensure that no threat would go unchallenged – especially since it was only a few days after the destruction of Ishtar's 'impregnable' fortress of Shining Hill. No one wanted to be at the receiving end of a SeeD infiltration force.

The starport was divided into two sectors. The first sector housed the starfighters and Mobile Suits, the second sector – much larger than the first – serviced the capital ships of the Galbadian starfleet. Even after the disastrous reign of Vinzer Deling, the former High Priestess of the long-dead Cult of Murder could tell that it had done little to cripple the military might of Galbadia. If anything, it served only to strengthen it. After the Ultimecia fiasco, Galbadia's military behemoth on and off-world prepared for the moment Terra decided to pay them out for almost destroying the planet in their bid for global domination.

Lady turned her gaze upon the Galbadian president who sat across her, whose eyes were upon the starport. His eyes were shrouded, and his emotions were kept under a tight leash, making him hard to read. Her gaze was soon wrenched from the president to the other woman inside the Thunderhawk. Salvanna Shaladrin crossed her legs, her crimson gaze telling Lady that any attempt to take Richter Deling from her would not be appreciated. Lady met that gaze squarely. Regardless of how powerful the drow woman was, Lady was not intimidated in the least. Regardless, Salvanna had little reason to be happy. From what her contacts in the Midnight Kingdom had reported, the Empress of the Forsaken Lands was not pleased with the way the Parliament meeting in Galbadia had went. It took a lot of reasoning and promises to keep the Empress from having Salvanna 'removed' from office. The ruling elite of the drow were utterly unforgiving of failure – and the Empress was no exception.

Regardless, it was a wise move on Richter's part. He had bought himself time to manoeuvre his pieces into place and stabilise his footing. With what she offered him, Galbadia could essentially tilt the balance of the game in its favour. But, as before, he needed time – and to extend it relied upon Richter's ability to persuade and manipulate his opponents and allies into giving him such until he was ready. The dream of uniting Terra under a single banner was not one for the impatient or the incompetent.

The gamble he was making was as high as the one she had staked her soul on – literally. If Richter failed, the worst that could happen was that the other nations on Terra would devastate Galbadia. At best, he would be asked to step down as president. The second scenario was remote as Terra had yet to forgive Galbadia for almost bringing about Armageddon.

Richter's personal Thunderhawk touched down with its escorts. Three squadrons of Aries-class sub-orbital MS and four Thunderhawks bearing his elite bodyguard landed as well. When Lady, Salvanna and Richter stepped out, the Base Commander and his guards were waiting to greet him. The commander saluted Richter, "Everything is in order, sir."

"Good. Have you activated my Iron Guard fleet and Douglas's 4th Squadron?"

"Yes, sir. General Douglas is able to spare you only 5 ships, sir. I could not get anymore out of him."

"I see. Never mind that. Is my ship prepped and ready to go, Commander?"

"Yes, sir," and the enormous Iron-Duke battleship that was Richter's personal flagship rose majestically out of the ground behind the commander, "We've stocked it up and double-checked all the systems."

"Excellent," and the Galbadian president turned to Lady, "This, Lady, is my flagship. Her name is _Stormfury_. She will be the ship that will be taking us on this trip that you wanted me to take. If this is a hoax, Lady, you will consider yourself fortunate if I choose to throw you out of the airlock."

Lady met Richter's eyes and knew that if this WAS a wild-goose chase, he would most certainly carry out his threat. Salvanna hid a smirk, but her red eyes told Lady that she would gladly do the honours if only to get a potential competitor out of the way before she got too close to her love. Even throughout the millenia, the matriarchal drow have never changed their ways. Men were considered second-class citizens in the Midnight kingdom, but a ruthless and strong man would find no shortage of drow women who want such attributes to pass on to their children. For the drow lived by a simple philosophy in their hostile homeland – only the strong survive.

Which is why she understood Salvanna's attraction to Richter.

"You will not be disappointed."

_**Deling City Park, 1330 hrs, 30**__**th**__** July 4051**_

"One of my buddies saw Richter Deling leaving the city on his personal Thunderhawk, Seif," said Raijin as he approached his friends who stood on a park overlooking Deling City. One of them was a young man with golden hair and a white trenchcoat adorned with red crosses. The other was dressed plainly in black trousers and blue coat, but her hair was striking silver and she sported an eye-patch.

"So, what about it? After that parliament meeting, he would want to give himself some space. It would also give time for things to cool down."

"Something ain't right, boss. He was protected."

"So? That's nothing new. The Deling family is not universally loved. They have made their share of enemies."

"No, no! That's not what I meant. He's well-protected, Seif, and I wasn't talking about a dozen or so bruisers or a couple of SeeDs. We're talking MS and Thunderhawk escorts. From what I can deduce, he's ain't heading for the commercial starport to take a holiday – not with the kind of hardware that's escorting him."

Seifer sniffed, "You deduced something? One of Terra's 21 wonders – so tell me where he is heading."

"I asked around. I overheard some girl from the Galbadian Department of Defence say that Deling is heading off-world and that he would be gone for a week – maybe more."

Seifer glared at Seifer, "So? Deling might be heading off-world on an inspection tour of the Galbadian colonies or some such. Why are you so worried?"

"WAIT. RAIJIN. INFO. MIGHT. BE. IMPORTANT. DESTINATION?"

"You won't believe me if I told you, Fuu-chan. Wait…I was just joking!" Raijin stuttered as the silver-haired girl's single eye narrowed as she reached for her serrated chakram. Fuujin had always hated having the chan suffix being put to her name. Seifer put a gloved hand on the girl's shoulder.

"Well? Where is Deling going?" asked Seifer.

"Well, my contacts told me that he's going to the moon," Raijin replied, looking nervously at the motionless Fuujin.

Seifer's left eyebrow twitched, "Raijin. How reliable are your contacts?"

Uh-oh. Okay, now he'd better convince Seifer before he lets Fuujin sic him.

"Very."

"And why is he heading for the moon?"

"You ask me and I ask who? Goddess, Seifer, even I know going there is stupid, but think of it. Seven days of space travel in any direction lies nothing but empty space, space junk and asteroids and debris. A warp jump will take any ship to the nearest world in two days. Even the nearest Galbadian-aligned colony is three days away and none of those dare to do anything stupid for fear of reprisal."

"Maybe he's heading to one of those colonies to suppress a rebellion?"

"It is a possibility, Seifer, but he headed off-world with a fleet big enough to mount an invasion. The kind of firepower he has with him will not only stop the rebellion – but sink the colony. And just days after he declared that Galbadia will not engage in any aggressive actions?"

"Aggressive actions against their own people do not count. But, tell me, did you see the kind of ships that accompanied him on his off-world jaunt?" Seifer asked.

"I did."

Seifer became serious then, realising that it was long past the time when Raijin would throw up his hands in defeat when he made up a story. Perhaps calling wolf one time too many was not in one's best interests…

"What ships were in the fleet?" Seifer asked.

"Richter's flagship, _Stormfury._ Almost 8 capital ships, 3 of which are carriers, the rest destroyers. Twice that number of cruisers and engineering vessels. Most of them are Richter's personal fleet. Only 5 of the ships belong to another squadron – and three of those are engineering ships."

Seifer had to agree with Raijin. That _was_ an invasion fleet.

"He's going to the moon with that of firepower? For what? To pound new craters there?"

"Seifer, I don't know seriously, okay! All I know is that he's going to the moon for some BS exercise that may be top secret and he's dragging a lot of his people for it!"

Seifer looked up to the blue skies. Something was up. Raijin had made a very good point. It took four days to go to the moon and return to Terra. No one in his or her right mind went to the moon for a vacation – the moon boasted a monster population that would shame Hell in its diversity. There was nothing on the moon save certain death, and the closest objects around it would be the monitoring stations watching for the advent of the next Lunar Cry. What was there?

Regardless, it was none of his business. If Galbadia needed its ex-general, he would always be ready to accept the post once more. There was no one better in Galbadia who was skilled in the arts of war and espionage – even though he was once the Sorceress's Knight.

He grinned lazily at Raijin, "Not bad for one who has his brains in his trousers. For once, you managed to give a good deduction – for once."

_**Balamb Garden, Headmaster's Office, same time and day**_

"I'm not certain where he is heading, Headmaster, but my contacts have told me that he has left Terra under heavy escort. I've seen _Stormfury_ leave the military starport outside the city with 8 capital ships and several cruiser and engineering vessels."

"That is a lot of ships, Valkaze," Quistis said, looking at the dark-haired operative, "Do you have any idea where he is heading?"

"I'm not sure, major. That's what I'm trying to find out. I've got some leads but some of them are nothing but rumours and hearsay."

Quistis exchanged a look with a silent Squall who stood next to her like a statue, his eyes upon the enlarged holo-map of the Galbadian continent, as though expecting reports to flow in that Galbadia had made tactical strikes against Esthar or Trabia. It certainly wouldn't be a surprise. There were four others in the Planning Room with them. Matron, Headmaster Cid, Selphie and Irvine were in attendance. Zell could not attend as he had unarmed combat classes to supervise. And Rinoa, whose understanding of Galbadia's political situation and the way it works was unsurpassed, had been unable to attend due to her lack of sleep.

"Tell us anyway, Valkaze," Squall said.

Valkaze looked at his report briefly before answering, "Okay. This is what I got. My contacts say that Richter is heading to suppress a rebellion that is starting to flare up on Galbadia's Galcandor colonies. That place has becoming a hotbed of unrest lately. But I think it highly unlikely, considering the amount of firepower Deling is taking with him. That, and it contradicts what one of my contacts high upstairs is saying."

"And what is it?"

"Richter will be gone from Terra for a week. You know fully well that a week's space travel in any direction is nothing but empty space, and it takes up to ten days to reach Eidolon Prime and eleven to reach Grandia. And almost every ship utilised warp jumps or the Catapult-orbital facilities to cover such distances between the planets."

"There is a Galbadian colony two days from Terra, Valkaze," Edea spoke, "Could it be that Richter is heading there?"

"Maybe. But with the kind of firepower Richter has with him? The colony of Celestial-4 is right under Terra's shadow, Matron. It would not be in the Governing Council's best interest to start a secessionist revolt unless they want to find out the hard way how hard a man their new president is."

Cid clasped his hands together, "Something is up in Galbadia, Valkaze. Find out what it is. I want to know."

"So do the rest of the Gardens," and Valkaze looked back at the report before continuing, "There is one other matter I want to bring up, Commander. Victor reported that he has seen Seifer Almasy within Deling City. I believe the events that have taken past in the past few days has drawn his attention."

Squall exchanged looks with Quistis before looking at Cid. The Headmaster's normally cheerful face was unreadable. It was a silent indication that he was leaving the matter to Squall – and that he had best not ignore it. Not that he was going to – Seifer was the wildcard in the whole thing. It went without question that there would be many who would seek his services. Mercenary formations, rebel groups and protection agencies would do well to have someone like Seifer on their team and were willing to overlook the fact that he had been the Champion of the Sorceress who nearly destroyed the world.

That his courage, tenacity and tactical genius was something that was self-evident long before he joined Ultimecia on her crusade. And when he had been their enemy, he had bent all of that to bringing Squall down. If Seifer had one flaw that allowed Squall to counter his every move, it had been the hot-blood of the former. And it was that hot-blood and determination that defined Seifer's every moment of existence after Ultimecia had been defeated. It was as though the only way back into the light was to defeat his rival.

"Seifer is in Galbadia, Val? Are you 100 sure?" Selphie asked the crimson-eyed agent.

"As sure as I can be. Give or take 20, my Intel is still accurate. It will not be good if he does become a threat, commander. I recommend a probe – or better yet, a face-to-face talk with him," the last words directed at Squall.

"Understood. Quistis, take Irvine and Selphie with you. See if he is a threat. Valkaze, you and Victor prepare to back them up. Seifer may have only his posse, but I will not underestimate his fighting skills."

Quistis nodded her approval, both in the way Squall was accepting his position as commander and her acceptance of the mission. The look of dislike of being a commander was still there, but he had learnt to bear its weight all the same. Edea joked to her that Headmaster Cid had wanted to nominate Squall as Garden Balamb's representative to the SeeD organisation's Circle of the Thirty, but Squall threatened that if he was promoted to that high a level, he would dissolve Garden Balamb's existence. Quistis grinned inwardly at that memory – Squall can be utterly scary when he wanted to be. Only now, the threats were laced in velvet – a telling reminder of Rinoa's influence.

Or was it because he never wants to leave the missions to others? Commanders of the Gardens are still in have the authority to lead Strike Forces on their missions.

Quistis's thoughts were broken by Selphie's pleading voice, "Squall, come on! I have to plan for the Garden Student Exchange Programme! I can't leave this at the last minute, and they'll be coming in six hours!"

"And so you won't," Edea spoke, "You will leave tomorrow."

"Matron!" Selphie whined.

"And no buts, Selphie. Earn your pay," Quistis grinned.

"You…!"

"Yes, I know. I'm evil. Live with it."

Headmaster Cid watched in amusement before turning to the holographic image of Valkaze, "Is there anything else, Valkaze?"

"Negative on that, sir. You'll be hearing from me if I've got some info. Till then. Valkaze out."

_**Balamb Garden, Commander's quarters, 1**__**st**__** August 4051, 0115 hrs**_

The party had been a good one, Rinoa admitted to herself, even if Selphie rushed about like a cat on fire trying to get the job done. Rinoa had the chance to meet SeeDs from on and off Terra. The invitations that had been sent out two months prior had received many replies – most of them in the affirmative. There had been many of them and many of the hotels in Balamb City had been fully booked. The lucky ones had replied early and had thus been able to secure quarters within Balamb Garden itself.

The sheer diversity of the SeeDs from the many Gardens had left even Selphie dizzy at the onset and had been wondering frantically if she had left something out. But, considering how well the welcoming party had gone, she had worried for nothing. When she had calmed down enough, Selphie had a good look of the Gardens she had never seen or fought alongside (or against) before.

The white-and-blue robed SeeDs from Garden Dominion.

Their black-and-red robed counterparts from Garden Falaris.

The traditional Kamiyan priestly robes from the SeeDs of Garden Strider.

The light armour – albeit of different shades – of Garden Midnight and Garden Archangel, who kept a considerable distance from each other.

The trenchcoats of Garden Zeon.

And many others.

By Hyne, it had been an interesting education. From what Rinoa could guess, there could easily be 10 to 15 Gardens on Terra alone, with the rest having their mobile bases on the other planets of the solar system. All of them dedicated to war. All of them dedicated to the hunt for the Daughters of Hyne. May the Goddess help her if her identity was discovered. The thought of all those Gardens – even those on Terra – dedicated to hunting her down frightened Rinoa terribly. Even if she should flee Terra, the Gardens that sailed the stars will see to it that she will not run far.

Rinoa had taken the chance to speak to them, to feel them out. Her ability to feel their _ki_, or their auras, was something that took martial artists many years to acquire – especially at the level she had attained. One of the perks of being a Sorceress was the broad expanse of the powers and skills she had acquired.

The one that interested her the most was the one Irvine had tried to flirt with and had used all of his charms on her until Selphie came in and dragged him off by his ear. The woman Irvine was trying to flirt with was a half-wingly woman from Garden Falaris and one of its Senior Instructors going by the name of Jaheira Alberdina. Lean and strong, with a body toughened from years in battle and training, Jaheira moved like a panther. It was lucky Selphie intervened when she did. Jaheira was seriously considering to putting his lights out – all without spilling the drink she had been holding. And after considering her, Rinoa knew she was capable of carrying out her unspoken threat.

Rinoa turned and looked at her sleeping companion, the sight of it causing her heart to beat faster. The way the moonlight caressed Squall's features was entrancing. It turned his dark chestnut hair to a sheen of golden-brown and accentuated the scar that he shared with both friend and rival. His aura bespoke of his exhaustion – no surprise considering the friendly challenge Jaheira had requested of Squall. Each Garden, Quistis told her back then, had its own set of traditions, particularly those that were of the First Founding Gardens. In the case of those that came from the auspices Garden Falaris, it came in the form of martial traditions. Squall, who had been trying to leave the party as inconspicuously as possible, soon found something that interested him.

A slight nod and brief eye contact conveyed to Jaheira that he would take up that challenge. The half-wingly commander bowed respectfully before introducing her lieutenant, who did likewise. He was a young man, perhaps two years older than Squall, with shoulder length dark hair and amber eyes shrouded beneath his dark bangs. He was well built and had the same stride and grace as the half-wingly. While many girls '_oohed'_ and '_aahed'_ when he strode forward, Rinoa felt something inside her recoil. For a brief moment as he lifted his eyes to meet hers, she _heard_ an inhuman growl – though the lips of the man who stepped forward had not so much as moved. No, she had _felt_ it.

The aura Jaheira's lieutenant radiated was intense and Rinoa could sense the terrible power hidden beneath his frame. The scent of blood and death practically shrouded him. Even Squall and several of the veteran SeeDs in the room sensed that subtle emanation. The representatives of Garden Kuruda all became tense, as though a demon had strode into their midst.

Squall withdrew his gunblade, then, and the Dark Templar pulled out a battle-gauntlet before a warp-blade sliced out in coruscating blue fire.

"Your name?"

"Shateiel Muhammad Spiritblade of the Death Angels."

"And you know who I am?"

A wry smile, "I would be a fool not to. But, we didn't come here to talk, did we?"

A gleam came to Squall's eyes, "No."

As though by an unspoken referee, the two men charged and the sounds of their weapons crashing against each other was like a thunderclap. Cheers and whoops began erupting from the lips of the spectators and Rinoa found herself watching in awe as the two combatants clashed. It was a deadly dance of steel and power blade. Even so, the Sorceress ascendant had not failed to see the love and adoration that was evident in the eyes of Quistis and Jaheira.

How alike they were.

Quistis had been at Squall's side long before Rinoa came into his life. Rinoa had long-known that the older girl's feelings for Squall had run deep when they had lived with each other in Matron's orphanage. That the blonde-haired instructor had taught and fought alongside Squall when they had been in the SeeD organisation spoke of devotion that an elder sister held for a younger brother. No…it was more than that. Time Compression made her see that.

Like the duel between Shateiel and Squall…it had the heavy feeling of déjà vu. It was as though she was seeing the grim portent of a future soon to come. Something at the corner of her mind whispered, _You see what is to come. You know you cannot avoid it. The time will come when the price waits to be paid. _

The soft whispers echoing in her mind, Rinoa lowered her head to Squall's chest and sank into soft oblivion.

The sounds of gunfire and war.

Sounds that she knew all too well. All around her, she could see flames sending a black pall of smoke that smothered the skies above. Even the river nearby was burning, a vision of hell on earth, a sign of black deeds done and hell to pay.

Countless bodies of men and women.

Ruined weapons.

Broken defensive lines.

Wrecked vehicles.

The blazing hulks of mobile suits.

The air itself igniting as armour piercing rounds sliced through them with shrieks of avenging spirits.

There was a voice in the wind that enveloped the battlefield, a plea that went unheard, deafened by the sounds of the war that raged. Eclipsed by a sinister laugh of triumph, emanating from the netherworlds, ancient beyond description and drunk with blood and death.

'_Who are you?_' her dream-self had called out.

No answer. There would not be any answer.

_'You lose, Daughter of Hyne._'

She whirled about in the direction of the voice. Something was coming towards her. Her enhanced senses picked it up first. Amidst the gunfire and explosions, there were the distinct sounds of two blades crashing against each other – and though there were hundreds such – this drew her because of its intensity. The blades that were crossed were being crossed in hatred. As the distinct sounds of those two blades drew closer, so did their wielders. Both of them erupted – almost flying – from the smoke. The first one that leapt out sent streaks of fire lancing through the smoky curtain before black lightning slashed out to counter it. Their blades crashed again with a thunderous boom, the force clearing the smoke that allowed the raven-haired girl to see whom the two figures actually were. One, she immediately recognised. Fur-lined jacket, cross-belts and a gunblade engraved with the sigil of a snarling lion. The other, she recognised as well, having met him only hours earlier – but something about him was different. Something about them both was different.

Gleaming gunblade crashed against blazing daemon sword. Squall's blue-grey eyes were the colour of setting sun, the intensity of the anger in them unparalleled from the time he had crossed swords with Seifer or Ultimecia. Squall swung his gunblade, the force of it sending his black-robed opponent sailing several feet before he brought the blade crashing down, sending a fiery wave to incinerate his adversary. The latter evaded the attack the moment he found his footing, leapt sideways out of the way and leapt at Squall – all in the space of one breath.

Squall barely had time to dodge the assault as the daemon sword carved a huge chunk from the bunker and out where his head had been a heartbeat prior. Amber eyes met golden ones. Daemon Prince and Angel Lord. Black Knight against Fallen Paladin.

_"It is ten minutes to midnight, and the clock will strike twelve. A sacrifice is made, and the Darkness parts the clouds and blackens the sun."_

That voice again! She whirled to a sight that caused her to recoil in horror. She screamed, then. She screamed at the sight presented to her. She screamed at the sight of her dead friends, their bodies rent by blade and blasted by gun. She screamed for the thousands of souls that carpeted the plains before her – the very sight of a Prophecy made real. Gehenna, even in a dream, is perhaps the worst nightmare that the Goddess had given her Prophets when she had given them Her Word and Law.

_"The clock strikes twelve and its mark shall be when the cry of a dying angel is heard."_

Rinoa shot awake, sweat pouring down her face, breathing heavily, her eyes wide with fear. The fear and excitement of being on a battlefield, even though in a dream, lingered however. The sight and sounds of it almost crossed into the physical world from her dreams. The Sorceress turned about wildly, awaking her sleeping companion instantly, whose blue-grey eyes snapped from drowsiness to full alertness and one hand slicing for the gunblade was never far from its owner. The fear in her eyes made those fierce eyes that had expected an enemy become gentler, a gaze he would never show in public.

Rinoa wet her dried lips, "Squall? You're here?"

Stupid question. Of course, he'll still be here. It's not as though he would vanish before her eyes into her nightmare. This was not Time Compression. Hyne help her if she was still caught in that nightmare. Nothing on Terra would make her want to re-experience that EVER again!

"Rin? Are you alright?" Squall asked before his strong arms wrapped around her cold, sweaty nightwear, "Is it another nightmare?"

She choked out the answer from a throat that was still dry from fear, "Yes."

"It's alright, Rinny. It's only a dream. I'll get you some water."

With those words, Squall stood up from the bed, and Rinoa watched him go to the pitcher beside a small stove.

_If it was a dream, Squall, why does it feel so real and happens so frequently? I've read that dreams are meant to tell you something – and this has happened too many times…and all of them…are about you._

_**Balamb Garden Guest Quarters, 1**__**st**__** August 4051, 0530 hrs**_

In the Guest Quarters where those Gardens had responded early to the invitation, one SeeD had awoken earlier than the rest. The room's other occupant, a half-wingly woman, was still asleep. Shateiel's amber eyes met his brother's blue ones over the hologram display. It was already morning in whatever place Garden Falaris now flew over.

"So, you're going to Ishtar?"

"Yes. It seems that the Ishtarians are calling in SeeDs in preparation for a retaliatory strike for the destruction of Shining Hill. They were certainly not happy with what you did."

"Should they be? I'm not."

"In any case, be careful."

"I will. Tell me, are there any missions on the roster the Operations Department put out?"

A long-suffering look came to Zieg's face, "You're incorrigible, you know that."

"Just tell me, Zieg."

"Most of the missions from the department are mostly spying and sabotage based missions. There are assorted escort missions – ranging from your low-paying bodyguard and counter-SeeD missions. Some of the missions are politically oriented."

"Oh? Tell me."

"Well, one of the missions that will get your interest. It's an embassy evacuation from Darmenia," and a small sub-window opened up, detailing the mission's objectives and holding the sigil of the WHITE Garden that acted as the heartland of the SeeD Organisation, "It appears that the right-wing groups in said country want to take advantage of Galbadia's currently 'peaceful' stance. There have been attacks on Galbadian citizens and the members of the ambassadorial garrison stationed there. Galbadia is seriously considering evacuating its people from there if the attacks escalate."

"It will. Darmenia has grievances against Galbadia longer than my mission list."

Zieg made a face, "For once, I will agree with you. The main threat will mostly be the Justice Swords right-wing group that is the personal army of Darmenia's Defense Minister. Galbadia has requested that President Arsoud dissolve the Justice Swords, but doing so may well send Darmenia back into civil war. Arsoud blundered when he forged the coalition government."

"Did he? Nothing wrong in him wanting peace, Zieg."

"Galbadia isn't. That's how the whole mess started in the first place! Arsoud managed to calm his peoples' ire against Galbadia for many years but this time it isn't gonna' work. The Darmenians want Galbadia out – and they want it NOW."

Shateiel sighed, "I see. Post up my name for the evacuation mission. See to it that the Operations Branch knows my plans. If our Garden gets the mission, I'll come back immediately."

Zieg twitched, "Brother…you do know that being on the G-SEP means that you are off the mission roster for the time being. And not forgetting that that Jaheira pulled a lot of strings to do so? If you do this, she will be _royally _pissed…"

"If she wants to be angry, Zieg, that is her business. See to it."

"Okay, okay. You could do this yourself from there, you know," the younger Spiritblade scowled, "Where is she anyway?"

Shateiel jerked a thumb to the bed behind him, "She's still sleeping."

There was a hint to the tone that Zieg knew all too well. Jaheira's main flaw was that she loved alcohol. She would get plastered even out on the battlefield and still have her wits about her when the next assault came.

"She's going to get a gut one of these days," Zieg groaned.

"Wait until Creations dies, brother, before it happens."

"I won't have to wait long, with you around her."

Shateiel's eyes flashed amber, "What does that mean, brother?"

"Nothing, nothing," Zieg replied swiftly, "Is there any hardware you need prepared?"

The eyes faded to its lighter tint, "Have Logistics prep for me a Leynos Assault Suit, and have Minsc on stand-by. This time, brief him on the mission should the contract go through Foreign Affairs. I will need his abilities. The Justice Swords are inclined to behave rashly – and stupidly."

"Doesn't everyone?"

Shateiel chuckled, "I will speak to you another time, brother. I'd better go do my morning rituals."

Zieg groaned, "You will _never_ change."

This time, Shateiel smiled one of his rare smiles, "No. But would you want me to?" before he terminated the connection.

The blade swung a glittering arc through the cool, night air as its wielder performed his _kata_, the martial arts exercise Gardens throughout Terra followed. Here, under the shadows of the mountains far from the battlefields of Terra, he attempted to chain the Beast in his heart. Here, at the nexus of when the night gave way to dawn, the rite he performed daily was at its most powerful.

It was like a drug, he knew, that was peddled by drug pushers in the alleyways and slums of the cities. His _kata_ was the drug he could not live without. It helped suppress the nightmares. Even though his eyes were closed and his body took the steps of the _kata_ unconsciously, his mind replayed the nightmare that plagued him the night before.

His voice was small, echoing in his mind, calling out for his parents. In his dreamscape, he was the child that was lost in a cemetery. He could smell the wet earth and breathe the heavy air reminiscent of the mantle that swathed the Pale Rider. Feel the weight of his justice in the tombstones that told the world that no one ever escapes him.

Not the common man.

Not the poor.

Not the rich.

Not villains.

Not heroes.

No one escapes.

He remembered the fear, remembered the feel of a teddy bear in his arms that he lost when he was taken from a childhood denied him.

He remembered the song his mother sang, echoing through that dreamscape cemetery. A song that Terra had long forgotten, but which he never will.

He chased after that song, calling out for his parents. Why are they so far? Why could he not reach them?

He reached finally the burnt out husk that was once home to a family of four – maybe one that could have grown larger. One the young boy would have been fond to watch over his younger siblings as they grew up together.

The katana came to a slicing halt, black flame trailing from the intricate path that it had left behind. Its wielder was drenched in sweat, his well-built frame heaving as dawn's first rays caressed the swordsman gently, bearing away the nightmares with a cool breath.

Unknown to him, a blonde-haired half-wingly watched him, clad in similar black robes. She saw the timing and precision of the strokes. The _kata_ of the Silent Phoenix was one of the most complex, used by the warrior-monks of the Kamiyan Combine to hone their mental focus and clear their minds. It was the one reason why she taught it to him. Jaheira Alberdina closed her eyes before withdrawing back into the shadows of the Garden.

"One day," she whispered softly, "the nightmares will end. I promise."

_**August 2**__**nd**__**, year 4051, Deling City commercial starport, 1200 hrs**_

The commercial starport of Deling City was located in the western section of the city and was often used as a transit point for sub-orbital Inter-Con shuttles between the nations of Terra. Busy round the clock, it brought businessmen and tourists to Galbadia, and a sizeable income to its economy. Despite the political tension, the economy of Galbadia was looking up since the end of the Sorceress War and was making a resurgence due to Richter's words.

Even then, security did not slacken. The Galbadians knew all too well that even though their president had extended an olive branch, there were those who were all too willing to set it on fire. Many nations had not forgiven Galbadia's past expansionist stance or the many deaths that it was responsible for. Which was why there were stormtroopers and armoured security soldiers patrolling the starport, accosting and questioning anyone who carried any weapons.

Even so, they kept a distance from four figures that emerged from the starport. No one wanted to arouse the ire of four members who were part of the famed Sorceress Team that managed to avert the Apocalypse. Quistis, Irvine, Selphie and Zell strode into the main arrival terminal. While the latter three chatted away, the first thought quietly about the young man who gave her instructions to seek out his rival to see if he was a threat. She found herself thinking of both him and his rival.

The dreams of both Squall and Seifer were mirror images of each other's. One stood in the darkness, his storm grey eyes icy and calm, wanting only the love and acceptance of one instead of the hindrance of the fame and glory that the other coveted. In a twist of fate, the rivals traded dreams. The one who wanted the love of one was given the love of many; the one who nearly betrayed Terra to its doom in hopes of acquiring the love of many only had the loyalty of his posse.

"Ah, Valkaze! There you are!" Selphie called out, waving her hand. The sunny girl slapped the raised hand that the undercover agent raised. She smiled happily, "It's good to see you, cousin. I trust you've made the sushi as you did the last time? I've so many things to tell you. The G-SEP was one hell of a party and with lot of work –"

The Kamiyan merely smiled patiently at his 'cousin', "You can tell me about it. It's rare I'll get such details from you to put in the papers. How is life in Garden, Selphie-chan?"

"Good, good. Yours?"

"Fine."

"Got a girlfriend, yet?"

"You'll never stop bothering me about that, will you?'

"Never. After all, you're my favourite cousin."

Valkaze made a face.

Quistis stepped in, "You're a newspaper reporter, Valkaze-san?"

"Not exactly, Quistis-dono. I'm merely the cameraman. But the reporter I'm attached to loves stories. It's part of the reporting trade to be nosy."

Quistis nodded. From his words, the blonde-haired instructor knew that Valkaze was still keeping an eye on Seifer. No doubt that he was aware that the government agencies of multiple countries were also doing the same – if they could afford chasing three ex-SeeDs around Terra. He had to observe Seifer and his posse without being detected by any of the two parties – and that took a lot of work. But to do that and keep the information accurate with minimal errors was what had made Valkaze an Infiltrator – and one of Balamb Garden's best.

"How is your friend doing?" asked Quistis, regarding Seifer.

"He's been training hard."

So, even after his defeat, Seifer's goal still remained the same. He wanted to defeat Squall.

"Where is he now?"

"Travelling around the continent. For the past few months prior, he had been training overseas. Maybe off-world."

Quistis nodded again. If Valkaze had a limit, it was his reach. Valkaze, from what Garden Intelligence told her, had contacts primarily on the Centran region and some in the Andosian Federation. Anywhere outside these places was out of his jurisdiction.

"Is he here?"

From his expression, Quistis knew that Valkaze had been expecting this. Was she so predictable?

"Yes. Please come with me. My hovercar is this way. He has a tendency to train for several hours before he retires to his lodgings at Angeline's Bar at the outskirts of the city. We can only get him there at nightfall – so we'll have to wait. During that time, I'll give you other reports I've heard over the line."

_**Deling City outskirts, same day, 2130 hrs, outside Angeline's Bar**_

Angeline had worked in her family-owned bar for several years since she was a little girl, often helping her mother and brothers work. She had seen many kind of men and women pass through the doors of her establishment. Some men and women were rowdy, some silent, wanting to rest after the rigours of the day had passed. Hers was a fine, quiet establishment, well patronised, and was not as rowdy as those in Deling City's red-light district where younger men and members of the military often patronised.

Recently, she had a few interesting guests in the form of a face she had seen before on the television. Seifer Almasy, the Knight of the Sorceress Ultimecia, and his posse. As reputed, Seifer was arrogant and had the skills to back it up, and his burning ambition to be famous and remembered by all for generations to come had caused him to be manipulated by Ultimecia. And there was nothing worse than having one's own dream used against you. She knew all too well the bitterness of a betrayed dream.

The silver-haired, one-eyed woman, Fuijin, and the hulking man who seemingly had the brain of an ox to match his physique, Raijin, accompanied him on his journey to seemingly find redemption. It was clear to Angeline's eyes that the ex-Sorceress's Knight could not swallow the bitter brew of his crushed dream.

Fuijin, the quiet silver-haired woman, told her as much about her golden-haired compatriot, but was quiet on the rest. Angeline knew when to keep secrets.

But, tonight, however, would bring in interesting guests. The bar held a good amount of the regular customers, including a few younger soldiers clad in Galbadian uniforms and armour. Their content faces held the fact that they had been working hard and the thought of sitting down on wooden chairs was as good as sitting on the floor. They had grinned and joked about their hardships, though. The ex-Sorceress Knight and his group sat next to the bar, relaxing as was their wont after a day's hard training. Angeline could tell that Seifer was not going to give up on his dreams. She had not lived for forty years -- seen the fury of the Dragoon War and the Sorceress War -- to know less.

He could make it in the Galbadian Army, and Hyne knows they need men and women such as Seifer and his small group. And she knew they could challenge a company of Galbadian power-suited marines and still come ahead. SeeDs were formidable to that extent.

The doors opened again, and in strode three figures - two women, one man. One of the women was golden-haired, her eyes a startling blue that seemed to tear open the doors of anyone's soul. She held herself with an aura of grace and professionalism. The other had short, curled brown hair and her cheerful, open face made her look like a pixie of legend, playful yet benevolent. Her companion wore a cowboy hat, and had a brown trenchcoat draped over his lean form. But, Angeline noticed that all three were armed. The first carried a chain whip, the second a pair of nunchakus, and she could see a pump-action assault shotgun commonly used by constabulary the world round.

Soon, she noticed that Seifer had turned and looked at the newcomers, and it was evident that she recognised them.

"Quistis, Selphie and Irvine," he snorted, looking at the three, "It has been a while, eh, instructor? Did Puberty Boy send you to see if I was going to cause him trouble?"

The three members came closer, and began to engage in a conversation that Angeline could not hear. Whatever was happening now, was definitely private. She saw them engage in quiet, heated arguments, saw the familiar rush of anger blaze in the speakers' faces that she had known from long experience meant trouble. She nodded to Charles and Rowan, her two bouncers, who prepared themselves should these people erupt in a brawl. Who were these people that knew Seifer so well?

And something clicked in Angeline's mind. She HAD seen them before! Those three that were talking to Seifer were SeeDs from Garden Balamb! The same ones who had followed the hero, Squall Leonhart, into the war against Ultimecia. That one, the woman with the golden hair, was no doubt, the instructor Quistis Trepe, the pixie-like girl, Selphie Tilmitt, and that cowboy was no doubt, the sniper, Irvine Kinneas.

She waved the bouncers back. They looked at her in bemusement, but she firmly shook her head. They would be no match against a SeeD. Taking on four men was no problem for both of them; taking on a SeeD was another matter, because those boys and girls were trained to kill.

For brief moments, Seifer's posse and Quistis's group argued, and she saw the blue eyes of the senior instructor of Balamb Garden narrow angrily at some insult. Seifer merely grinned mockingly, before Quistis, her stern discipline holding her in check, turned and left the bar, Irvine and Selphie following.

He turned towards her, then, and called out, "Angeline, can I have another drink? Talking to women who are older than their actual years is thirsty work, especially when you're trying to convince them."

_**Valkaze's quarters, Deling city south-central habitation blocks, 0100 hrs, 3**__**rd**__** August 4051**_

"And you are sure he is of no threat?" Squall asked.

Quistis nodded. She had never seen Squall so exhausted. What had he been doing that made him look as though he took on Ultima Weapon? That monster was the closest thing to a Behemoth battlecruiser on four legs and wielding a greatsword that was not a joke. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and the light from the comm-link gave him a lich-like look. He WAS tired.

"I am certain, Squall. Amidst insults and demands, he did deny that he was a threat to anyone -- save yourself."

Squall snorted. The familiar _I'm-not-surprised _snort.

"You look exhausted."

Silence followed.

"Headmaster Cid has spoken to the acting president of Galbadia, Douglas Wind. It would seem that the words of Richter had inflamed more than a few right-wing factions in the country of Darmenia. His apologies are not doing anything to calm them down. President Arsoud is trying his best, but I don't think he can hold those right-wing parties in check. They have been demanding that Galbadia leave Darmenia completely -- and even the embassies of the Archangel Kingdom and the Midnight Kingdom have been subjected to attacks."

This was definitely not good. It had all the markings of a war about to erupt. Galbadia was fighting a war with Dollet, and despite this, it can still handle a war with the slightly backward Darmenia.

Darmenia was still several rungs below Galbadia's technology, but its army was formidable, and despite so, it had plenty of Goliath-class battlemechs.

"And?"

"Headmaster Cid will dispatch us at a moment's notice. He has appointed me, you, Zell, Selphie and Irvine to go."

Oh, this was definitely a major operation -- and it would definitely cost Galbadia a ton, calling in the best of Balamb Garden.

"Oh, Jaheira and Shateiel will be with us, also. It seems that the former is interested in our operational procedures and sees if she can improve it somewhat."

Quistis raised an eyebrow, half-amused, half-annoyed.

Jaheira, she had met. The woman was a professional, hands down, and had way more experience being a SeeD than she. After all, she had survived over forty years of suicide and risky mission assignments. Wingly and drow SeeDs lived longer than their human counterparts due to the fact that their reflexes and experiences came into the factor. But, Shateiel was the mystery. There was something to the older SeeD that made Quistis uncomfortable. The senior instructor prided herself on her ability to judged character and to perceive what others could not.

Though like Squall in many ways, Shateiel had an angry ambivalence that was not evident in Squall; a terrible darkness lurking beneath eyes reined only by an iron will. Shateiel was bred for battle; the way he moved and carried himself spoke of a blood-thirst that was inhuman. Throughout the welcoming function three days ago, Quistis had seen his irritated expression. One that faded only when he fought Squall in a ritual challenge; Squall was no different. The two of them engaged in a dance of steel was something almost natural to them.

A fallen paladin and a Black Knight…

"They _requested_ this?"

Squall nodded.

_And doing this for free? High Templar Justin of Garden Falaris will see to it that heads roll!_

"And yes, Quistis, their heads will roll. But, I think they want to learn the way we do things in Garden Balamb. You'd best get back here on the first available shuttle to Balamb."

_Huh? Since when did he get so good at predicting my thoughts?_

The last thing she saw before Squall terminated the connection was the one rare thing Quistis had wanted to see in all her life. That smile had died when Ellone had left the orphanage all those years ago. It made Quistis jealous that she was not the one who had returned that smile to Squall. But, did it ever matter? As long as she was at his side, she would have the strength to keep on walking.

She would sleep well tonight.

_**4**__**th**__** August, Year 4051, Balamb Garden Training Hall 2, 0845 hrs**_

It had been a few days since the transfer students from the other Gardens had arrived, and there had been much gossiping about them (much to the consternation of the latter). Friendly and polite they all were, including those from the grim Garden Falaris. The rare chance to talk to other SeeDs from other Gardens was something no SeeD wished to pass up. The only likely chance they may meet each other was either when they were fighting together for the same employer – or against each other. The latter was a topic never spoken on but silently acknowledged.

Even with the presence of the visiting SeeDs from the other Gardens, there was no change in the training and studying schedules in Balamb Garden. Most of the visiting SeeDs took the advantage to learn about Balamb Garden's fighting techniques and modus operanti while sharing theirs. Some even took the chance to spar with each other. A new arrival into the training hall caused one of the watching instructors to take notice, "Well, well, look who's here."

The new arrival was a lean and well-built man wearing the black and gold robes of Garden Falaris. A sheathed katana rested upon his broad shoulders and shoulder length dark hair rippled as he moved. The young man was beautiful; not the beauty that one describes in physical perfection, rather it was the perfection of a well-tempered blade crafted by a master smith. This one was well trained, and she could bet her squad leader status that he had seen plenty of battles.

A hand dropped on her shoulder, "Amelia? What's wrong?"

It was her friend and commander, Iyanna. A wingly of two centuries, Iyanna was essentially a matured adult in her race. Winglies and their drow counterparts mostly had a life span of five centuries, and Iyanna had spent almost all of her living years as a SeeD. Her years had not been an easy one, as was seen by her bionic arm, the gleam of a facemask and the scar that stretched down to her lower jaw. Her wings – Iyanna's pride and joy – remained as soft and strong as they always have been. It was no secret that the wingly force commander had reinforced them with enchantments of invulnerability and fortitude.

"It seems we would have a visitor, Iyanna," Amelia said, and indicated the black-robed Dark Templar SeeD that had entered. The wingly's eyes widened in recognition. After the duel during the welcoming party three days ago, there were few that did not recognise one of Garden Falaris's two representatives.

"Is that who I think it is?" Iyanna asked.

"Yup. And it seems he's looking for a fight," and Amelia winced. Oh no! She forgot about Iyanna's bad side. Said wingly was smiling a grin that was like a tiger baring fangs at the crippled deer it was about to devour. Iyanna had few flaws in her character, and the one she displayed was one of the worse ones. Iyanna _loved_ a challenge. Any man or woman who could fight Squall Leonhart to a standstill definitely earned him or herself a challenge – and a chance to go into her good books or her strike force.

That was how Amelia got herself a place in Iyanna's Celestial Blades. She had once been in Garden Trabia, but Iyanna raised hell pulling her into her strike force. Shihana Yuki had been from Garden Strider; Iyanna defeated the Strider Master there for the right to pull her in. And now this…

Amelia groaned inwardly. If Iyanna had defeated Commander Squall, Balamb Garden was doomed to wage war against all the rest as it brought in the finest SeeDs on and off Terra. She'd better try to stop her, "Iyanna…I don't think…"

"Then don't. I haven't have had this much fun for a _very_ long time."

"Iyanna!"

"Before they get back, I'd want to at least be able to challenge Garden Falaris and Garden Kuruda to a duel. I might just get that wish."

The Dark Templar's eyes were already on Iyanna, a clear sign that he had found the fight he was looking for. Iyanna grinned in his direction and grabbed her lance-scythe before the two of them strode towards one of the duelling circles. Amelia shook her head, "I give up…"

Iyanna, on the other hand, was having a ball of a time. She had spoken to the Jaheira a day prior about her students – and when she heard that the latter brought along with her one of her best – she wanted to put the half-wingly's words to the test. Already, Iyanna felt good about the whole thing. The young man before her screamed 'fighter' in every movement he made. Standing at the edge of the duelling circle, Iyanna asked, "Are you partial to using GFs in practice duels, Spiritblade?"

The Dark Templar merely inclined his head. Good. This should be interesting. Iyanna nodded to Amelia, who strode forward and raised the force bubble around them. The runes around the 30m duelling-circle brightened; Amelia had raised the strength of the shield higher than normal in preparation for the GF channelling that Iyanna specialised in.

Though her adversary did not know that…and she wondered how he would deal with it. Iyanna spread her wings and took a fighting stance, an action mirrored by her opponent as he revealed five and a half feet of shining steel, and an equal length of lacquered rosewood. So focused was Iyanna on her opponent that the senior instructor did not realise everyone in the hall had stopped training.

And so they would, thought Amelia, This is going to be a sight to see.

As though at an unspoken command, Iyanna lunged at Shateiel, the very image of an avenging angel, her lance-scythe slicing down with terrible force. Shateiel calmly – almost in slow motion – brought the blade back and stabbed at Iyanna's throat, forcing her to counter the block or lose her head. She responded by bringing the butt-end of her weapon to strike her opponent across his face. Another resounding crash – this time, Shateiel blocked the blow with a taloned gauntlet of black steel and curling amethysts. Iyanna leapt back then, wary.

She had tested her opponent's skill with the two strokes they had exchanged. He was _formidable_. That means that this little dance would be…fun.

No sooner than the thought crossed her mind did she find Shateiel already slicing through the air and sending her sailing backwards. Iyanna somersaulted, her wings pounding powerfully to allow her to regain balance long before she touched the ground. Iyanna allowed her Guardian Force's power to be channelled through her weapon, coruscating around the hilt in an impressive display of fire before slamming the blade down, causing multiple streaks of fiery lances to sear through the air.

Shateiel raised his armoured left hand, icy air swirling about the taloned digits, the amethyst crystals turning icy blue on obsidian before he sent the counterstroke. Icy lance met fiery lance in a resounding explosion and steam heat.

Iyanna's assessment of her opponent went up a notch higher.

_So, he can channel also. This guy is no run-of-the-mill squad member. He's an elite. Let's see if he can deal with this!_

The wingly sent another assault; this time, she sent one of her killing strokes – a combination Guardian Force assault that she had mastered two years prior. Combining Shiva and Leviathan, she sent a tsunami of ice crashing towards her adversary. Many of the watching students and SeeDs were awed at the sight of what Iyanna had done; the feat of a Guardian Force combination attack was only possible by those of the elite of Garden.

_This_ would bring the match to an end.

That came apart from the seams the moment Shateiel retaliated with a combination GF assault of his own. The ensuing explosion and the fiery wave combined with the icy lances blown back towards Iyanna told her opponent's counter-strike. Ifrit and Siren – melt the ice enough to weaken it and let Siren's sonic assault blast it to shards; then combine it with Ifrit's fiery lances and let the force of Siren's song sent those icy lances back at her!

Even before she could think any further, Shateiel was already rushing towards her, covering the thirty metres between them in several steps. Their weapons crashed again, locking against each other. Iyanna had the chance to look at her opponent up close, and saw the amber shade in his eyes staring at her with the hunger of a hunting lion. His lips were pulled into a tight smile, a clear sign that he was enjoying himself. Iyanna grinned and pushed him back. Again and again, their weapons crossed and countered each other's in a dance of steel and sparks. Iyanna was no longer pulling her punches; she fought as though on the battlefield. The two of them were utterly ignorant of the fact that the training hall was resounding with cheers and bets being placed.

What had once been a training hall had become the equivalent of a gladiatorial ring. Squall Leonhart would have face-faulted.

Iyanna tried a desperate gamble, then. Sweating and breathing heavily now, she stared at her opponent. He was likewise sweating, but no worse for wear. How long has it been…? Twenty minutes? More? She couldn't tell. Iyanna started to infuse Quezacoatl into her weapon. The Guardian Force responded swiftly, causing lightning to swirl in a giddy lightning dance around the spear blade. There was enough power there to take down an Arclite Siege Tank. Guaranteed – because she used it many times to do so.

She lunged forward, stabbing in three separate parts of his body that would guarantee that he would be thrown off balance.

_BAM! CRASH! WHAM! CRASH!_

The attack was partially successful. Shateiel did lose his balance – but he had blocked all the attacks. Behind him, the Guardian Force Siren hovered protectively, glaring at her as she caught Shateiel and steadied him. One of Siren's angel wings was badly torn – an indication that one of Iyanna's attacks _did_ get through. A slightly darker stain and tear on his robes told her that Siren had not blocked it in time. She smiled in triumph, until a voice from her memory told her something.

"_Guardian Forces who emerge without their Companion's summons possess a high affinity to each other, and the subtle distortions of their physical form is an indication of their Companion's soul. Know this, and you know your adversary."_

Shateiel looked at her.

"_But by then, you would already have known the capacity of your opponent."_

Iyanna felt something in her soul twist in terror before years of war and training squashed it. If it can bleed, it can die, so went the old saying. Even as Siren vanished, her blue eyes became crimson as she wrapped her golden wings about Shateiel, her voice singing a paean of war. Her crimson eyes soon reflected on Shateiel's amber ones.

Iyanna lunged forward at the demon-eyed Dark Templar, their blades crashing again and again. Each stroke was swiftly delivered and countered with terrible force. As their weapons locked again, Shateiel slammed his taloned gauntlet into her ribs – breaking the lock and knocking her back a good 12 metres. When she staggered back to her feet, the wingly felt a great fire burning in her, a conflagration that announced the imminent arrival of a limit break.

Shateiel smiled, obviously knowing this.

The watching crowd shrank back in fear, never seeing a limit break used in a practice session. Not even Garden Midnight fought with such deadly earnestness in their sparring.

Amelia wanted to call out, to tell Iyanna to stop before this duel led to a fatality, but found her voice caught in her throat.

"Angel Flight!" came the hoarse scream as Iyanna charged forward, a blazing scythe of fire in her hands and her two wings becoming four as her charge left after-images of her previous position. In one step, she covered thirty metres.

A grunt of pain told her that the scythe blade, though blocked, had managed to strike its target. No Guardian Force could take one of these and come back for seconds! Blood splashed onto the white-hot weapon and onto Iyanna's face. She dimly heard Shateiel's words, ancient with power, "Dragoon Transformation! Seventh Circle of the Darkening Light!"

One moment, Iyanna had been standing on the edge of victory; the next, she found herself hurled high into the air, and her eyes widened in the knowledge of what was going to happen. The blow that had sent her into the air had broken multiple bones, leaving her utterly helpless. The pain she felt was but a prelude of the punishment to come. Iyanna screamed and screamed and screamed as Shateiel's blade rained countless blows upon her before the killing stroke pinned her lungs and brought both of them crashing to the ground with a resounding crash. Shateiel pulled the sword from the wreckage of Iyanna's body and her bloody vision gave her a clear view of her killer.

Shateiel was clad in black and violet-lined armour, elaborate and ancient. Twin wings were spread in infernal majesty, like some daemon prince, and blocked out the light of the morning sun. The elaborate sword he wielded in one armoured fist was wet with blood, and was cruelly serrated. The last thing she saw was the Dark Templar tapping her exposed neck with the bloodied sword, "You lose."

Even though cloaked in shadow, she could tell that he was smiling.

And then, the darkness took her.

_**Balamb Garden Infirmary, 1200 hours, 5**__**th**__** August 4051**_

Iyanna awoke in the Apothecarion of the Garden, as Doctor Kadowaki looked over the young wingly instructor. Her head pounded as though a thunder hammer had been swung full force into her skull. If a mirror was placed before her, the badly injured wingly would not have been surprised if her head was swathed in bandages – by the Goddess Above, there was a cacophony of monsters singing an opera in her head!

"Ouch, ouch, ouch!" Iyanna complained as she got up. The act earned her a frown from the white-coated doctor who was busy checking on her life-signs. Iyanna crashed back down on the bed, her body aching badly.

"You'd best not get up, Instructor Iyanna. You've taken _quite_ the beating," Kadowaki stated, emphasising on _quite_.

"What happened to me?"

"What the hell were you fighting against? A greater demon? You were carried in here with injuries that made me wonder if a Basilisk had hit you directly!"

"I wish it was a Basilisk, doctor. He hits like one."

"Your entire right rib-cage was broken, three on the left. One crushed lung from a sword wound that was but two inches from your heart. Your spine was fractured in two places, your wings in multiple places. Your bionic arm was ripped off, literally and one entire leg is fractured. Not only that, your body sports enough scars that if you were to attend a competition in the next year's Celestial Games, you would sweep aside the competition were there an event on such!"

Iyanna was intimidated by Doctor Kadowaki – the sheer litany that rolled off her lips was akin to some celestial seraph reading the judgement and the punishment of a soul damned to the Daemon Princes.

"How long will I be in here?" Iyanna asked with a squeak.

"Three months, tops. We managed to repair the critical damage – mostly thanks to the guy who cast a _Heal _spell on you before dropping you off. He called you a fool, and I'm inclined to agree. If you want to die, Iyanna, die somewhere else and not in Garden, please?"

The door hissed open and a black-robed figure stepped in. For a brief moment, Iyanna thought that it was Shateiel coming to pay her a visit – or to finish her off. It was Jaheira. And like Doctor Kadowaki, the half-wingly was not pleased.

"Ah, Commander Jaheira," Doctor Kadowaki acknowledged, "she's awake now…"

"And in better shape than I originally thought," the half-wingly finished, "Thank you, doctor. May I have a moment alone with Instructor Iyanna, please? This is something professional."

Iyanna gave a mental squeak and looked at Doctor Kadowaki imploringly. She was going to get round two a tongue-lashing. And from what she had heard of Jaheira, her diatribes would shame the drow matrons.

"Instructor Iyanna. You _are_ that tired of living, aren't you?"

"Maybe."

"You are. I've extensively questioned everyone who was at your little duel yesterday. Commander Squall is _not pleased_. The moment Quistis or the Headmaster comes to hear of this, you are going to wish you did die."

Iyanna winced at the fury in the younger half-wingly's voice. There would be hell to pay when she could walk again. Even now, her mind was conjuring images of a Squall sharpening his gunblade for her neck, and Quistis readying her Save the Queen chain-whip for a hanging noose.

"What the hell were you trying to prove, Iyanna, going full-throttle in a sparring match? By Hyne, if that was the way you fight in practice, you'd fit in our Garden perfectly. I'm almost tempted to pull you and your entire Strike Force into our Garden if it wasn't for the overwhelming opposition from your force's members."

_Goddess, please help…_

"And you had to fight my second-in-command. Something most of my brethren back home would consider insane. Which you ARE," Jaheira continued, "and are lucky to be alive."

"That I know. How long have I been out? I didn't have the time to ask the good doctor."

"Two days, Iyanna. Two days since I had to bail my subordinate and you out of the mess you both got yourselves into. Your bad reputation is known throughout Garden Balamb, Iyanna, and you are damn lucky they decided to overlook this one. They believe that you have already suffered enough punishment."

"You're damn right I did. You Falaris types are killers, I've heard, but this takes the cake."

"So I am told. Did he smile?"

The question caught Iyanna off-guard.

"Huh?"

"Did he smile?"

It took a while for Iyanna to answer, and she found herself growing hot under the collar when she did, "Yes."

"Indeed. He has that effect on every girl that ever dared to cross swords with him – whether they live after that moment is another thing entirely."

"Damn it, Jaheira. I'm over two centuries old – and that makes me a grown woman in human terms. For me to _blush_ when I see a boy who is easily a decade my junior is not exactly a good thing for my students to see. I'll have them swarming me for dates if given half the chance!"

The anger drained out of the atmosphere, then, when Jaheira answered, "Then we are not so much different."

Iyanna grinned, "You like him, don't you?"

If the wingly had been expecting a reaction from her half-wingly visitor, she was sorely disappointed. There was no girlish blush or stuttering, but a clear statement, "I do. But it will seem that I'm not the only one."

That threw Iyanna off the bed.

"_Naaaannnniiii!!"_

It was Jaheira's turn to grin, "That just proves it."

That knowing look was all it took for Iyanna to throw in the white towel. She decided to change the topic before it went too far, "Where is he? I know I gave him an injury when we were fighting two days ago."

"You did. Your limit break cut _another_ scar on him. If Siren had not protected him, rest assured that the next place you'll rest in is a grave."

Iyanna nodded solemnly, "He's been on many missions, hasn't he?"

"Yes."

"That explains why he is that good. I never expected someone his age to be able to thrash me within an inch of my life. How old is he?"

"21."

"That young?"

Jaheira twitched, "He's only three years older than your Commander. What's so shocking about that? No Garden Commander is as young as Balamb's. The others are at least in their late twenties or early thirties."

Iyanna snorted, "If I _had_ defeated Squall Leonhart, _**I**_would be the commander of Balamb Garden. Compared to Squall, I have _decades_ worth of command and combat experience. And what more, that boy just doesn't get with the programme. He's a commander – not a Strike Force leader. No matter what Quistis and I try telling him – or anyone for that matter – he just won't listen! What's even more aggravating is that everyone loves him all the more for it! If this goes on, Balamb Garden is going to suffer from discipline problems. I'm almost this close to wanting to drag Seifer and his posse back so as to stop this – him being Ultimecia's Knight be damned!"

Jaheira chuckled, the frustration in the woman both understandable and amusing, "And we suffer from the same problem as well."

"At least you have to suffer for one subordinate! You don't have to worry about Falaris's commander deciding to go AWOL! Mine does! Quistis turns pale _every_ damn time Squall runs off with one of the strike forces on a mission!"

Jaheira laughed then, "Considering what I've heard about your commander, I believe you. Shateiel and him will make a pair to drive everyone up the wall."

Iyanna joined her.

Doctor Kadowaki peered in then, "I see the both of you are getting on well. Jaheira, I request that you leave. Iyanna needs her rest. Your lover-boy," the remark caused Jaheira to flush, "_almost_ did not pull the punches."

Iyanna paled then, _He was holding back?_

Jaheira glanced to Iyanna and nodded to that unasked question before speaking, "I'd better go, Iyanna. Take care – and try not to do anything _this_ stupid again, all right?"

"I hear you. Oh, and one more thing…"

Jaheira stopped.

"Does Shateiel return your affections?"

Even though the half-wingly did not face Iyanna, the older woman knew that the former was blushing furiously. And the answer was in her body language.

"That's my business, Iyanna. Leave it well alone."

Iyanna chuckled as Jaheira left the Apothecarion. She got the last word after all. Nice...

_**Ishtar-Aphrodia airspace, southern province of Erinyes, 6**__**th**__** August 4051**_

The massive Thunder-class heavy carrier, Darenger, was a throwback of the republican days of the Republic of Aphrodia when it declared independence from Ishtar. From end to end, it was over nine hundred metres in length, and was rimmed with heavy weaponry that made a formidable foe even for Ishtar's _Skyfire_-class heavy battleships. In addition to the fact that it carried almost twenty mobile suits -- four squads in all -- and over thirty starfighters made the Darenger a virtual flying fortress. It held a crew of one thousand, including two companies of marines. Even Ishtar's admirals would ensure they had enough air-support when it came to Aphrodia's Thunder-class carriers, for it was harder than nails, and were eliminated with extreme prejudice when they came within Ishtarian space. With its triple tier of plasma batteries, it enforced the view that the Thunder-class was a foe to be reckoned with. A blast at full power from all three tiers could easily sink or severely damage another Thunder-class in short order.

Fortunately, the country of Aphrodia had only ten such heavy carriers and two _Armageddon-_class megacarriers, the latter of which could easily hold almost four times the amount of mobile suits, almost close to two hundred starfighters and a full battalion of marines and a heavy support unit. If the nation of Aphrodia had more, the country of Ishtar would not be so enthusiastic about re-conquering on its former ex-colony.

Keen eyes stared at the behemoth that flew overhead, escorted by two Behemoth class-SCT battlecruisers, three Valkyrie Frigates, and a dozen Wraith starfighters. No doubt to the eyes of this watcher, this was a major invasion force that could pose a threat to Ishtar's security. If this force dug in and established a base within Ishtarian territory, they could easily open up the way for an invasion that could see Aphrodian strike forces assaulting Ishtarian cities.

And that was why the Ishtarian Government had called in for the SeeD mercenaries to aid in this mission of turning back the small fleet before they started taking out their military installations one by one with mobile suit raids and fighter bombardments. Ishtar was far larger than Aphrodia, and was technologically a step up the ladder. But, what it lacked was Aphrodia's mongrel, frontier spirit of unyielding defiance that was evident in its military. While Ishtar's forces operated with modus operanti, the Aphrodians have been known to use unorthodox tactics that left their Ishtarian counterparts confused and in disarray. There were times, however, when their tactics left them in the firing range of the Basilisk mobile artillery tanks.

Zieg whistled, impressed by the amount of ships that the Aphrodians were pouring in to lay pressure on the shoulder of the Ishtarians to force them to break their ruthless siege on the province of New Musashi. That place had been such a hot zone that the Aphrodian Government paid two Gardens to field almost eight squadrons in that area alone. And Zieg knew eight SeeD Strike Forces in one single area often meant that the place was a hotly-contested area.

And if that fleet could raise a base deep within Ishtarian territory, they would have the advantage of position over their adversaries, who would be forced to send out units to watch their backs for fear of a surprise attack when they advanced. Zieg turned the head of his Leynos Assault Suit around to look at the Ishtarian strike force that had been selected for this particular mission of sinking the fleet. They were hiding all along the wall of the canyon, their suits on standby-power to avoid detection. They numbered thirty in all, a major advance force consisting of almost ten squads. Such a force in Aphrodian territory was nothing short of trouble. One mobile suit alone held the power of a heavy tank and was just as heavily armoured (maybe more!). Attached to the unit were LRM carriers and Hydra battle tanks equipped with their quad twin-linked autocannons to take out air units.

This mission, Zieg knew, was dangerous. Damn it. This was something his brother made a living out of, finding a good place to die. But, unfortunately, as he was gallivanting in Balamb Garden and enjoying the attentions of the girls there, he was stuck here. How he wished he was in his brother's shoes! And of all times, someone's 'wise' words returned to haunt him.

_Someone often does the dirty job. We are SeeDs; I need not say more._

Where had he heard THOSE words before?

"Zieg," spoke a voice, "the carrier is passing within striking distance of Team Gryphon. Shall we attack?"

The one who spoke was Erinsha Windwalker, a female drow from Garden Midnight in the cruel drow country of the Midnight Kingdom. She was riding the desert-camouflaged Zaku to Zieg's right, and wielding a Reaper Beam Rifle that was a lethal weapon -- even to a heavily-armoured cruiser. On the down side was that it generated an enormous amount of heat, and it was not uncommon for beam weapons to suffer meltdown and explode, putting the mobile suit out of commission. Zieg's Leynos Suit wielded the upgraded Reaper-2 Beam Rifle that fired short bursts instead of a continuous beam, thus eliminating the meltdown risk and increasing its firing rate. Its down side? It had less power. Good for killing other mobile suits or battlemechs, but it definitely not useful against heavily armoured and shielded targets.

"Negative, Rin. Wait until Captain Terry says go. This is his mission. We're the muscle. We are not paid to blow it."

The drow arched one eyebrow at that comment. Zieg hid a grin. Drow did not like being made pawns in anyone's power plays that was common in their homeland, let alone a human's. A cheeky thought crossed Zieg's mind. Drow maidens would be perfect for his brother. They were tough, resourceful and downright beautiful, if not haughty and deadly. There was one problem, despite the downsides of falling for a drow woman. His brother was more interested in blasting entire population centres into bloody hell -- and he was so dense that even the most straightforward advances by the girls in Garden Falaris did not work.

"For a monkey like you, maybe."

Ho! So Erinsha was asking for another slash and parry argument, eh? Zieg would have been tempted to oblige, but with that enormous giant flying overhead, even the proud drow would not push the matter further beyond that insult.

"Captain Zieg," a voice spoke as the face of the Ishtarian strike force captain appeared on the monitor, "It is time. On my mark, we begin the attack."

At last! Zieg's patience was wearing thin after waiting in the canyon since yesterday morning, waiting with anticipation for the arrival of the Aphrodian advance fleet. He glimpsed a smug grin on Erinsha's face before she terminated the communication. She, too, had been growing weary of this wait.

"All units," spoke the Ishtarian captain, "On my mark. Five..."

The massive carrier and her escorts moved over the strike force, not sensing the wolf that laid waiting to pounce on their intended prey.

"Four..."

The quad twin-linked autocannons of the Hydra tank battalion raised skywards.

"Three..."

The computers in the LRM carriers locked onto the escorts, while the Lazarus detector vehicle warmed up its sensor circuits for the precaution if the wraith escorts went into cloak. That could spell trouble for any of the ground or aerial forces.

"Two..."

Across the canyon, Gryphon team prepared to unleash the hail of Churn-boosted AA rockets. The squadrons of Ishtarian Thunderbolt heavy starfighters, Hornet heavy bombers and Valkyrie frigates flew outside of the scanning distance of the Aphrodian fleet which intruded upon Ishtarian airspace. When the signal to attack came, they would rush in at full speed to engage the starfighters that would no doubt launch from the carrier.

"One..."

Zieg's gloved hand gripped the throttle of his Leynos mobile suit, and a smile pulled upon his lips. It was during these moments that he understood that he was no different from his brother. He loved the way the fire of dancing with the Angel of Death ran furious in his veins, making him feel alive. He understood why that same Angel Princess hovered like Siren hovered over his brother, marking him as the Harvester of Souls.

They were born killers. In war, they made their mark in blood and knew that they belonged nowhere else.

"All units, begin operation! May the God-Emperor go with you!"

With a roar that was deafened by the fire of the Hydra's autocannons and the LRMs shooting into the air, the mobile suits of the Ishtarian army launched into the air, weapons blazing.


	12. Chapter 10

_**Chapter 10: The sleeping dragon**_

_**Dark side of the moon, 8**__**th**__** August 4051, 0200 hrs, Galbadian flagship Stormfury**_

"There is nothing here, Lady," Richter spoke, his voice belying the fury that the president felt in his heart, "Only empty space and a sea of stars for as far as I can see."

"Be patient, Deling. The Sa-matra battle-platform is hidden under a powerful cloaking device that has been functional for five hundred years. Not only have the SeeDs that hid this station cloaked it, but have taken the precaution of planting it in a dimensional pocket so that it could never be reclaimed."

"Am I seriously going to believe this rubbish you are speaking?"

"You will, if you want to fulfil your dreams. I have told you before; your ambitions and mine intersect, and what benefits you will benefit me. If it doesn't benefit me, why would I even bother to approach you?"

Salvanna crossed her arms, glaring at the woman that Richter had been in collusion and whom had taken everyone on a wild-goose chase that had wasted their time. Even though Richter had asked for time from the Council, he would have been better off strengthening the military behemoth of Galbadia further. And she had an Empress to placate and a wingly bastard to deal with – it just couldn't get any worse! On the other hand, it just did. A message relayed to them from Galbadia informed Richter about the deteriorating situation in Darmenia. The extremists were playing hardball, and the garrisons found themselves ill equipped to turn back angry mobs and armed militants.

It was pointless talking to fanatics.

And the auburn haired woman that Richter made her pact with was one herself. Salvanna had dealt with the likes of fanatics to identify one, even though her exterior outlook and demeanour said otherwise. 'Lady', if that was her real name, was manipulating Richter to her own ends. But, what was her goal? Once Salvanna knew what the auburn-haired woman's goals were, she could map out her plans to a fairly good degree. Decades surviving in the Forsaken Region's byzantine politics had bred in Salvanna vicious survival skills – and one that she wouldn't hesitate to use if circumstances dictate it.

"Because I am the easiest to make use of?" Richter asked. Salvanna applauded silently – it was clear that Richter had a contingency plan and a gun mapped out. This was why she liked Richter, even though he was a mere _mon-keigh_, a lowly human. He was a drow at heart.

"It's one of the reasons," Lady said cool amusement.

"No more games, Lady. Where is the Sa-matra? The damn star-fort in a 'pocket dimension'? I am no fool, Lady, and even though such a thing _is_ possible, not even the drow or the winglies have the technology to create a pocket dimension."

"We do, Richter," Salvanna growled, "It's just in its infant stages. My race and the winglies are way beyond your race's technology; the only time your race ever surpassed ours was during the Usurpation War five centuries ago."

"The drow has a point, Richter. The Midnight Kingdom and the Archangel Duchy were not passive observers when the Usurpation War was raging. They bore witness to the devastation of Terra and know that the Imperial Dominion **HAD **such technology. The source of such technology, however, is from people called the _Whispered._ What they are and who they are, I don't know. But they are the ones responsible for the construction of the monster known as the Sa-matra and various other technological marvels that all of humanity – and the drow and winglies – covet.

"The veteran warriors of your people, Salvanna, can tell you what happened during that war. Your people and the winglies _only_ hear the stories – they have never borne witness to the power humanity is capable of unleashing. The elder races thought that humanity could not harness such power; at least, not in ten thousand years. The Usurpation War shattered that line of thought overnight."

"But we are humanity's superior where sorcery and enchantments are concerned," Salvanna argued.

The auburn haired lady acquiesced to those words, "True. But during the Second Dragon Campaign, they derailed that line of thought also. The Black Cathedrals of Ishtar that brought the Abyssal Legions upon the soil of Terra and four other planets should be convincing enough. That Greater Daemons could be brought at the behest of the Daemon Overlords without the need for blood sacrifice and rituals could tell you that the Sorcerers who enacted the ritual were powerful enough to do just that."

"Zieg Spiritblade aided them!"

"Yes…he aided them, that he did. But he was also human."

"One that is possessed."

"Yes, but to bring Hell on Earth in the fashion Zieg had done needed more than just daemonic sorcery; the core of the Dark Arts is willpower. Those who practice it are strong of will, but must know when their powers are lacking. Arrogance has damned many a fool to the gleeful demons waiting for him."

"I am uninterested in fairy tales and legends. I know the legend of Zieg Spiritblade and it has nothing to do to why we are here. The stories of Dragoons and the Children of Bhaal will not fulfil our ambitions, Lady."

"The Sa-matra is a story, Richter."

"And it is not a fairy tale. Fables do not interest me, Lady. Now, you will show me where the Sa-matra is," and he drew his bolt pistol, aiming it at the auburn-haired woman's head, "Or I will bury you in space."

A glance sideways told Lady that Salvanna was almost…eager to do the honours herself. And the steely edge in the Galbadian president's voice told Lady that making him wait any longer was not advisable. Nor was making use of him. A vigilant drow woman guarded his back and Lady had learnt that to underestimate a drow – any drow – was an invitation to meet Astrophel personally. But, even so, that was a brief look of shock that passed through Salvanna's face warranted interest. Richter was hiding something – and Lady wanted to know.

But first…

"Very well," she spoke calmly before addressing the pilot of the _Stormfury_, "Come to a heading at 0-12-75-60 and cut all engines. Tell our escorts to stop and watch out for any unwelcome visitors. Annihilate any that do. Have the two Science vessels put up an electromagnetic field. This will see to it that any sensors directed in this area will not sense anything."

"What are you doing, Lady?"

The auburn-haired woman did not answer as she leapt from the pilot to the main command console. She opened up a communications channel, locking it on the co-ordinates on the dark side of the moon. The communications officer demanded to know why she was opening a communications channel to those co-ordinates when there was nothing there.

She ignored him, trying to remember the knowledge she had ripped from the soul of one of the Celestial Lion tech-priests who had aided in sending the Sa-matra into the immaterium. The codes and procedures that SeeD and Knightly Order had levied upon the star-fort were akin to wards designed to cage a Demon Lord. Or, more appropriately, to keep the dragon sleeping. She remembered the sheer majesty of the star fortress that the Imperial Dominion had constructed five centuries ago; in every angle, the Sa-matra radiated both incalculable power and ambition. The dream of the Dominion had been to unite all of Terra under its banner. But, never in Terra's long history of conquerors, would the determination to triumph be manifested as it was in the Sa-matra.

And, ironically, in a way, the Sa-matra was also a prison. It held, within its armoured body, the Dominion's ultimate bio-weapon. One that she intended to give Richter in return for the lives of those that she wanted sacrificed in her bid to attain power. And when she was done, the power of the Sa-matra and its hidden monsters would pale in comparison…

Lady hit the last combination on the command console.

The results were instantaneous.

Then, before them, the very fabric of space began to shimmer and warp, as the stars themselves were seemingly drawn into a vortex of darkness, streaking into an endless darkness as running water would empty into a sink. There were gasps of shock and awe, and that familiar scent of terror the former High Priestess of murder found intoxicating.

Even Richter was awed. He had never expected the Imperial Dominion to hold such power in the years of the Usurpation War, and to bend the fabric of reality and utilise warp-space to travel immense distances, though scientifically possible, was difficult to replicate. The first to achieve space-flight had been the Imperial Dominion and the Archduchy of Zeon, then a province of the Dominion, which formed the super-power of the world second only to the Archduchy of Ekyolan-Falaria.

A shape took form in a black outline, blanketing out the stars for kilometres in every direction, massive and enormous beyond description. It was gunmetal grey in colour, and the faded emblem of the Imperial Dominion was painted upon the massive hull of this ancient battle-station that had become legend in the stories of many countries of its grim power_. 'An impregnable fortress that could not be breached or brought down,'_ so said the Emperor of the Dominion of the Usurpation War period. A boast made empty when the excommunicated Celestial Lions, SeeDs and Black Guard Orders did just that. The fate of Terra's remaining free nations and colonies decided in the heat of a apocalyptic space battle. A mission that bordered on suicidal, where the survivors would be just a mere handful who would bear witness to their comrades' sacrifice, and who would enter the pages of history.

Richter, like his crew, was shocked into silence, and even Salvanna found that she could not speak. Never in all of drow or wingly history had such _savage _grandeur had ever been built, and the humans were the first to build this colossal monolith as a burning testament to pride and ambition of their race. Richter could make out the heavy plasma batteries and countless laser cannon turrets that dotted the battle-station. Whether a capital ship or fighter assault, the Sa-matra was capable of handling both.

And it was his.

Richter smiled fiercely, and his eyes drank in the sight before him, "It's beautiful, Lady."

"I know. This is but one of the two secrets I want to show you. Dock within the Sa-matra, Richter. I shall show you everything else, and deliver unto you what I promise."

"And what do you want in return?"

"Like I said before, I will tell you when you have fulfilled your dreams. Fear not, you shall find them reasonable in payment."

_**Place unknown, date and time unknown**_

Again, she dreamt. Not the dream she had previously, but no less frightening and heart-wrenching. She was standing in a city now, which had once been a prosperous metropolitan country, now reduced to burning ruins by the battle that consumed it. One of the Leman Russ battle-tanks opened fire and exploded close to her dream-self, causing her to throw up her arms in reaction, and causing her chocolate-highlighted, raven hair to flutter. She saw soldiers clad in the armour and colours of Galbadia fight against soldiers of the sovereign nation the former was attempting to conquer.

Lasguns and autoguns flashed defiantly, a symbol of defiance of men who had no hope of survival or victory, but who were determined that their enemies take what they loved the most over their dead bodies. Skyscrapers laid in ruins, the mark of a nation's greatness brought low by the ambitious hand of another, and in those ruins of a great city, the defenders of a nation fought stalwartly to retain their homeland. Her dream-self gazed over the cities where the modified, quad-autocannons of the Goliaths matched the battlemechs' gauss cannons.

_What country is this?_

The battlemech, a Linebacker class, soon gave her the answer. Painted on its battered side, scoured and blackened by laser blasts, were five stars and a crescent moon surrounded by a golden sunburst. The country of the Andosian Federation, which was renowned the world round as the finest trading port and one of the safest cities in the world.

It was a place she wanted to settle down in should she get Squall to leave the SeeD organisation. Setting up a café had been one of her dreams. Here, and nowhere else, was an unspoken agreement that Andosia become neutral ground. Smote during the Usurpation War and contested between the Dominion and the separatists, Andosia is a land won at the price of the blood of heroes and innocents. It was a country where order reigned under the heavens and where peace is a thing near-guaranteed.

That illusion was shattered by what she saw.

The battlemech blasted the Goliath, the gauss cannon tearing the Goliath apart and destroying it in one fell shot. She turned her head skywards, to see that the air had turned black and amber from the fires that consumed Andosia. She saw the fiery streaks of starfighters, the Andosian Arrow and Thunderbolt starfighters duelling with Galbadian Wraiths. Andosian Marauder fighter-bombers roared down on quad ramjets at break-neck speeds, launching krak and melta missiles at the Galbadian heavy tanks. Fires everywhere, the rocking sounds of gunfire and one of the buildings collapsing.

Her vision shifted again, to another portion of the battlefield.

She saw Squall again, Lion Heart crashing against an enormous Thunder Hammer held by a big-sized, broad shouldered and bald man who was wearing power armour with the colours of Garden Falaris. The standard SeeD symbol of the armoured fist denoted him as a heavy weapons specialist. His face was twisted in fury and anger, as she saw him shouting at his rival, who blocked a blow that rocked him. Grey-blue eyes glinted with that same killing rage that she saw in Squall every time he went into battle.

She heard the malevolent fury in her beloved lion's voice, one that was so different when he had held and comforted her that night when the nightmares had begun, and when she trembled in bed as they grew in intensity. Along with these dreams came the furious accusation that she was behind the war that raged.

"Where is he? Tell me, traitor, or die!"

"Tell you where my friend is? Who is traitor here? Boo says you are the greater traitor! You tore the SeeD organisation in half by siding with evil! Traitor hero, meet my hammer! Hammer, meet traitor!" the giant roared as he swung the enormous hammer.

And Rinoa's eyes snapped open.

_**Archangel Duchy Embassy, Deling City, 8**__**th**__** August 4051, 1000 hrs**_

Sarles entered the office of his superior and friend, holding that same pitcher of tea and two cups that would be prelude to their day's discussion. The moment he entered, Sarles, by years of experience, realised that something was wrong -- or had gone very wrong, The air was charged, and Amaleth was glaring into the communications link with an intensity in his eyes that could mean only one thing. He was angry. It was reinforced when his wings ruffled in agitation as he listened to the person speaking on the communicator.

"Amaleth?"

The wingly raised one hand, an indication to wait. Sarles walked towards the table and put down the tray, and from the next few words that followed, caught up on what made Amaleth furious.

"And you are certain Darmenia's right-wing extremists is attempting to do what it has been threatening?"

"Yes, sir. The embassies from Midnight, our own and Galbadia's are designated as perhaps the three most viable targets. They want Galbadia, and anyone who holds close diplomatic ties with Galbadia, out. It is that much clear.

"President Arsoud of Darmenia has been attempting to reason with the right-wing groups, and there have been riots. Galbadia's imperialistic policies are not unknown to them. If this goes any further, there will be another civil war, and Arsoud will not want to risk it."

"That I can understand, Thalis. Has Galbadia done anything about this?"

The wingly agent was silent for a long time.

"From what I have heard, with Richter gone, and his second, Douglas Wind in command, he has had Galbadia has requested the aid of its old enemy - Balamb Garden."

Now, Amaleth was shocked, and his eyes widened. Of all the--?! Balamb Garden? By the wings of Hyne Almighty, Douglas requested the aid of Balamb Garden? Balamb Garden had blasted Galbadia's ambition to high heaven when the Sorceress Ultimecia had been in power, had wrecked several of its installations and slaughtered its soldiers in open battles in the process of doing so. Had Douglas lost his mind completely? It would have been a sensible act to call upon Galbadia Garden, but why Balamb?

Was it because the mission was so dangerous that he would call upon the same heroes who went forth during the Sorceress War?

Amaleth was silent as the thought crossed his mind. To call in upon Squall Leonhart(which would be an obvious choice, considering the danger of the mission), was to say that Galbadia was no longer pulling the punches. "How many did they employ?"

"Four, my lord. All of them are the same people who fought against Ultimecia a year ago. Quistis, Irvine and Selphie join the Leonhart boy, sir. Though, there is something interesting you might want to know."

By now, Sarles was beside Amaleth, and listening to the entire conversation, his intuitive mind making up the conversation that had occurred earlier.

"Go on."

"There are three SeeDs who have followed their Balamb counterparts on the mission. There is a rumour claiming that they are doing it for free."

Amaleth was surprised. SeeDs were mercenaries -- nothing they did was free, period. This was obviously an exception.

"Free? Are those SeeDs mad -- or do they have a death wish written somewhere?"

The agent looked rather amused, even so, but shook his head and denied having more information. All he could tell Amaleth was that they were part of a student transfer program (which Amaleth found rather ridiculous, considering the Gardens) and that they were with their Balamb counterparts to view their methods of operation. Nothing out of place there, but the thought of them going into battle for free was something Amaleth could not feel at ease with. But, perhaps, among them, there could be someone who was good enough to protect his daughter. His wife, Aurelia, had arrived some two days back, and was resting in their bedchambers still. She had agreed to his idea of having a bodyguard look after their daughter discreetly.

Aerie had been surprised when she called her father from her school in the Andosian Republic when she had heard of his defiance and his refusal to support Galbadia in its expansionist policy. She had told him that she had received many threats, and there had been an envelope posted to her with two bullets within, with a letter bespeaking that her death warrant had been sealed. Aerie was a brave, if not innocent, girl who was unaware of the harsher things of life. Amaleth and Aurelia both knew that the former's continued defiance may well get them killed, but neither were prepared to sacrifice their country nor their daughter's future for the dreams of ambitious senators in their homeland.

"Thank you, Thalis. Contact me if there is any more information." Amaleth said, as he cut the connection to his agent before turning his attention to Sarles, "And now, my friend, tell me if you have some good news regarding the guardians for my daughter..."


	13. Chapter 11

_**Interlude: **_

_**Chapter 11: Angels on high**_

_**Galbadian Carrier Group Celestine, 30 kilometres off the coast of Darmenia**_

_**1300 hrs, 10**__**th**__** August 4051**_

The medium-class carrier, _Wolfguard, _was a rugged looking ship that had undoubtedly seen many battles. Originally, the carrier and its escorts had been part of the battlegroup _Incarnae _which had been actively engaging the naval forces of the Dollet Dukedom. Upon the order of the acting president of Galbadia, one Science vessel, two battlecruisers and the medium class carrier had been detached from the main twelve-ship armada near the Tomb of the Unknown King and headed for Darmenia with all due speed.

Its acting commander, Lieutenant-Colonel Rigard Jonson, knew why this order had been given out, and even his superior officer, after several cutting comments about the persistence of extremists to continue their so-called holy wars when the other party just offered the olive branch. That Galbadia had, more or less, claimed responsibility for almost destroying Terra was a humiliating blow to its pride. The terrorists and splinter cells of anti-Galbadian movements were still determined to pay Galbadia out for past crimes – including their latest fiasco a year before. There were those who supported their actions, saying that Galbadia deserved a harsh lesson for almost destroying the planet.

To detach half of the carrier group to carry out this mission must have been one of extreme importance -- added to the fact that there were SeeDs abroad to help in the mission. They had been paid a lot of Gil for this. That was nothing new – mercenaries, especially SeeDs, never came cheap. And never with a discount, period. Today, however, would set a new trend.

A normal SeeD strike force comprised of twenty-five men and women; five squads of five each, including the command group. That was the standard organisation of most Gardens on and off Terra. They _hardly_ ever deviated from that – unless the Garden had suffered heavy casualties. And Balamb Garden was not one of them, even though they suffered terribly from the Sorceress War a year prior.

The strike force that followed the _Celestine_ carrier group had twenty-eight members. If the presence of the famed heroes of the Sorceress War did not stun the crew into silence, the black-robed and armoured representatives of Garden Falaris did. His finance officer indicated that the price paid to hire the shining elite of Balamb Garden had not even gone up a single cent.

Three free SeeDs. Rigard refrained from complaining, even though he disliked the SeeD organisation. These young men and women were professionals – and where the _Celestine_ group was going, they would need them. He looked down from the control room of the hangar bay where the SeeDs and his crew were undergoing last minute checks on their equipment before the mission got underway. A majority of the SeeDs were wearing either Hostile Environment Suits or carapace armour.

The Galbadian marines abroad the _Wolfguard _were all equipped with the bulkier CMC-300 Powered Combat Suits. The suits gave the equivalent protection of carapace armour with the added advantage of its wearer being able to use heavy weapons. The combat suits were forged from fragments of the STC templates used by the Dominion and the Black Empire to create power armour. The only external power that had the full templates outside the two superpowers was the SeeD organisation.

One of the Dark Templar SeeDs was wearing such a relic, resplendent with the Imperial eagle and chapter markings of the Celestial Lions. From what Rigard had remembered of his history lessons when he was younger, the Celestial Lions were excommunicated traitors of the Dominion; they had been charged with heresy and treason during the Usurpation War. Whatever…so long as the SeeD could fight and perform up to his standards, Rigard couldn't care less if he went naked into the firefight!

His eyes rested next on the equipment that the SeeDs had brought with them on their mission. The sight of them nearly brought a tear to the veteran's eyes. Now, _these_ were the top-of-the-line equipment! Four Thunderhawk Gunships and three Mobile Suits – two Leynos Assault Suits and Leo-class ground-based combat suit – shone with power and menace. Upgraded constantly and maintained meticulously, no doubt, by the SeeDs themselves.

If only his people could be that dedicated…

"Sir?"

Rigard turned around to see a sergeant saluting him, "Yes?"

"The CAG wants to see you. She says that she wants you to look over the arrangements before she carries on with the plans."

The LTC groaned inwardly, and the look on his face said it all.

"Tell her I'll see her in 15 minutes."

On the flight deck, Squall Leonhart prepared for the mission at hand. Even though his face did not show it, the SeeD commander was glad to be free of the confines of the Garden he commanded. How he hated all the paperwork and responsibility that came with being the Commander. The headaches and nonsense that he was forced to deal with on a daily basis was insane. The quiet glee of being unchained had not gone unnoticed by Quistis and the rest.

Even the grim companion of Jaheira Alberdina was smiling quietly off to one side of his face, as though understanding the matter perfectly.

It, however, made the Galbadians nervous. Being in the same area with the same SeeDs who had humbled their country was not exactly a comforting feeling. And with that quiet smile painted on the SeeDs' faces, half of the hangar crew were jumping at every step that they took, almost expecting the ship to be turned into a slaughterhouse in the space of a few minutes. As a result, any conversations between the SeeDs and the Galbadians were kept short and formal.

Fine by him. He didn't want any unnecessary conversations. Squall looked through his equipment for the last time. Bolt pistol. Check. Lion Heart sharpened and loaded. Check. Additional rounds Lion Heart. Okay. Additional bolt pistol clips. Okay. Frag Grenades. Check. Auspex. Check. His carapace armour's functions were operating properly without a hitch. He gazed at his reflection in Lion Heart's shining surface. Even as he looked at his reflection, he felt someone was missing from it.

The image of a raven-haired angel came unbidden to his mind. She was smiling, sad but understanding. Unlike the spoilt girl that she was when she had been the idealistic princess of the Forest Owls guerrila group fighting for Timber's independence. Once upon a time before she took upon herself Ultimecia's powers, she had demanded answers for questions no SeeD was capable of answering. But, without her, Squall would never have found himself asking.

But, as of late, Rinoa had been having problems sleeping. It had affected her lessons so much that Squall was forced to put his foot down at Quistis's request and throw Rinoa out of her class. Headmaster Cid and Matron supported his actions – and no few students in her class supported it. The nightmares had started three months ago. It had come slowly, easy at first to dismiss, but the sheer intensity of it started skyrocketing and had left Rinoa a shattered wreck at times. When asked what it was about, Rinoa fell silent, as though afraid to disclose of it. Doctor Kadowaki's medicine had only so much effect, and she was forced to increase Rinoa's dosage to suppress her nightmares.

Whatever Rinoa dreamt about, it sometimes seemed to leak into the physical world…

"What are you thinking about?" spoke a voice that broke the SeeD Commander out of his reverie. He looked up to see Quistis looking down at him, holding a dataslab in one hand. For a brief moment, Squall felt a feeling of déjà vu envelope him, before replying, "Nothing."

"You're thinking about Rinoa, aren't you?"

No point hiding it from Quistis. He merely nodded.

The blonde instructor sighed, "Don't worry about her, Squall. Rinoa is a strong girl. She's no longer that whiney princess we all knew over a year back – and she won't make stupid decisions."

It was clear that Quistis had still to forgive Rinoa for the latter's blunder that caused Squall to fall into Seifer's hands during the earlier days of the Sorceress War. Squall still bore the scars of his rival's tender mercies and the Sorceress's scalding wrath.

Quistis was not the only one to know that Squall was having an internal debate with himself. Another voice spoke in his mind; its resonance like the winter wind but had none of its frigidity. Shiva – Guardian Force of Ice. Squall's first GF before he graduated as a full member of SeeD. Next to Quistis and Rinoa, the Guardian Force was his closest confidante.

_ She is right, you know. The Angel Sorceress is no longer what she was when we first met her _

_I know. I just cannot stop worrying._

_ About her nightmares? You have them also. All mortals suffer from it. And you have good reason to have it _

_But not this frequently, Shiva. And never as intense as what she dreams. She brings her nightmares into the real world with her._

_ Tell me about it. I tried to see what she dreamt about but she had raised a psionic block. Your lover has high empathy to all of my kind, allowing us to junction ourselves automatically in times of need. The rest, even Eden, tried to penetrate the block. None of us succeeded _

_Is she dreaming about the confrontation with Ultimecia?_

_ Maybe. You took over four months to recover from the after-effects of that fight. Your lover looked at damnation right in its eyes – and she did not have the psychological conditioning SeeD gives its warriors as a pre-requisite _

_Hmm…_

_ Do not worry. Like the Solar beside you has said, your lover has matured in that one year than she will in ten _

"I know, Quisty," Squall said, "But I cannot help but worry. It took us the better half of six months before we could put the events of the confrontation behind. And Rinoa took the worst of it. Adel – and Ultimecia; one desiring to have a physical form, the other making her the inheritor of her powers."

"She's strong, Squall. Have faith in that."

The SeeD commander was about to reply, but he stopped as he caught sight of a familiar figure stepping into view. Quistis followed his gaze to the black-armoured Dark Templar SeeD who had nearly killed one of Balamb Garden's senior instructors – though by no fault of his own. Iyanna had initiated the limit break first, a clear sign that the sparring session had gone beyond the 'Injure, but do not kill' rule. Shateiel had retaliated without delay.

A major point in Shateiel's court was that Iyanna had a very bad reputation in the way she did things. Minus the fiery arrogance and inability to take orders, the veteran SeeD was as bad as Seifer at times. If she were, Quistis did not doubt that Squall would no doubt grant her a scar mirroring his own.

"I know what you're thinking, but Jaheira assured me that he is controllable. And we do have overwhelming evidence – and Iyanna's own words – that she turned the sparring match into an outright duel. None of us would take a limit break in the face and _not_ retaliate. Before I forget, you did the same thing – thus the adorable scar on your face," Quistis grinned, adding the last sentence as an afterthought.

And to her delight, Squall was fighting back to urge to blush.

"Stop teasing me."

She laughed then, "I can't help it." _But I wish I…_

A voice called out, breaking Quistis's line of thought, "Squall, Quisty, the CAG of the ship is holding an ad-hoc meeting. She wants all of us to attend. I think it's about the current situation in Darmenia. It's hit boiling point."

Quistis and Squall exchanged looks. To call in an ad-hoc meeting would mean that something had happened to that embassy, and that there was a chance that they may be too late. To reinforce their thoughts, he felt the carrier rock as it picked up speed towards the Darmenian coastline.

_**Wolfguard Briefing Room 1340 hrs**_

Major Diana Rinter looked older than her forty years and the lines around her eyes showed it. She had a lean form and had scars that told the story of her life as a Galbadian line officer. Her hair, however, was long and kept in a ponytail – kept in the same fashion an old flame said looked good on her. And truth be told, despite her forty years, it still looked good on her as it did twenty years ago.

Diana was the Commander Air Group – the CAG – of the _Celestine _carrier-group and was directly in charge of all flights, patrol routes and aerial assault plans on designated targets. The SeeDs took one look at Diana and gave her instant respect, which frankly, caused Diana to feel embarrassed. She suppressed it quickly. Such emotions had little to do with what she was about to say to the assembled commanders of the marines and the SeeDs in the room.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the reason why this ad-hoc meeting was called in at the last minute was because our intelligence people have been doing their work for a change -- and giving us more. I will cut the small talk, and get down to it. After this briefing, however, the units I designate will launch immediately and head for the embassy. Intelligence has reason to believe that the extremist groups -- especially the Swords of Justice -- are intending to use deadly force against the embassy. Originally, our mission objectives were to secure the area with troops and mobile suits before evacuating the embassies of the Midnight Kingdom and the Archangel Duchy.

"Now, it has changed to a grab-and-git mission. No longer will we be using mobile suits to assist us in securing the area and thus, we may be subjected to autocannon fire from the Justice Swords Goliaths or their LAVs. There may be a chance of the Darmenian Army stepping in to stop their counterparts, but it may be too late by the time they get there. The Foreign Ministry back home has informed the ambassadors of the Midnight Duchy and the Archangel Dukedom to gather at the Galbadian embassy with their staff and guards for evacuation.

Grab the ambassadors, their family and staff, and get the hell out as fast as you can. This is a risky assignment, because I want it done with minimal casualties on either side."

The word 'either' also meant the angry mob and the members of the extremist factions. The Galbadian marine platoon leaders started exchanging looks with each other. One of the captains finally asked, "Major, but that is…"

"It is an order from the top, boys and girls. No ifs and buts."

Everyone exchanged looks again. Only the SeeDs remained dead calm. They had been through worse odds and conditions before and everyone knew it. This might be a walk in the park to them but the Galbadian marines could not say otherwise. Diana knew from the commander of the _Celestine_ carrier group that 25 SeeDs had been assigned to them on the mission – but like him, she did not expect 28 to appear. Four of these were famous for their role in crushing the Sorceress Ultimecia; the other three relatively unknowns came from Garden Falaris, incidentally on a Student Exchange Program.

Diana had heard of _normal_ civilian schools having such things – but the Gardens? It made her wonder if the Garden Masters were in dire need of psychiatric evaluation. The Rumour Mill abroad the ship said that the three SeeDs from Garden Falaris had attached themselves – free of charge – for the current mission. The SeeD Organisation was not a generous one – period. They were an independent mercenary army – and that means that every operative assigned has a price tag. But, twenty-eight SeeDs – especially this particular seven – looked more than just capable of performing the mission; they looked more than ready to annihilate anyone who stood in their way.

Knowing SeeDs well enough, Diana pushed her thoughts to the back of her mind as she began the briefing. The faces of everyone in the room, if it were possible, became grimmer. The Explorer Vessel attached to the _Celestine_ group had detected five Goliaths advancing upon the embassy's position. The embassy itself was under siege, with gunmen on every rooftop around it. Their contacts within the embassy confirmed it. Diana knew that the 28 SeeD-strike force could be entrusted with the mission at hand, but Diana's superiors simply did not trust the SeeD organisation after the debacle last year. The suspicion and reluctance that needed to be squashed was – as Acting President Douglas Wind put it in her briefing – insane.

Galbadia did not need another Vinzer Deling – and the upper echelons of the government were _full_ of imbeciles whose posts were beyond the scope of their abilities.

As the briefing ended, Diana asked, "Any questions?"

The black, power-armoured SeeD raised one armoured hand, "Just one, major. Can we not perform this operation on our own?"

Diana had expected that question coming a mile away, but before she could answer, Lieutenant Hanson of Epsilon Company's 4th platoon, cut in, "Hey man, are ya' completely nuts? We're dealing with some two hundred plus pissed people – and more coming in – and right-wing extremists who are armed and dangerous and waiting to kick our asses on arrival. And you think ya' can get the ambassadors, families and staff outta' there on your lonesome SeeD ass? What is it you SeeDs have that we marines don't, huh? You boys and girls are doing nothing but play soldier."

All seven SeeDs in the room did not so much as twitch, but the black-armoured SeeD's face split in a smile that would freeze ice, "Really? I beg to differ, lieutenant. War is the reason of SeeD's existence. We do not 'play soldier'. We will get the job done – no matter the cost and no matter what it takes."

Diana cut in before the verbal slash and parry became literal, "Enough, lieutenant Hanson. You've made your point. Arrogance is a mantle that the SeeDs can bear; they've lived up to their reputation since their Founding. And for you, Shateiel, my answer remains _no,_" emphasising on the 'no', "because this is my country's embassy. Not SeeD's."

This time, all seven SeeDs did twitch, even Shateiel. It is a brutal reminder with an underlying insult for all SeeDs in general. Most SeeDs – though not all – are often stateless. They have no country to call their own, let alone a home.

"As you wish," the black armoured SeeD replied.

"Good. Any other questions?"

This time, it was the Strike Force Commander that spoke, "Major, from what your reports indicate, all three ambassadors from Galbadia, Midnight and Archangel are holed up in the first's embassy with their bodyguards and staff. It will present an irresistible target for the factions who hold a grudge against Galbadia."

Diana fired Squall a glare that spoke '_Thank you for pointing out the obvious of why we are in this mess'_. But she understood the concealed warning in those unsubtle words. Yes, putting all three ambassadors in one place would be too great a temptation for the extremist factions to pass over. Even with the number of the garrison tripled, the mob outside easily outnumbered them ten to one. The Darmenian security troopers there would not even reduce the odds – and the extremists' Goliaths would make those odds worse.

"Squall has a point, major," spoke the blonde-haired woman – her name was Quistis, if Diana remembered correctly – that was the SeeD Commander's shadow, "We will have to employ, at the very least, one squadron of Aries-class MS to cover the evacuation."

"No. The reason is if we cause too many casualties, my government will have hell to pay. Back in Vinzer's time, we'd resort to using tactical missiles to solve the problem. This time, we'll try not to shed innocent blood unless absolutely necessary."

"It may be unavoidable," Quistis replied, "But we can try. And, major, I really insist on the usage of heavy support elements. If you will not provide it, we will use our Thunderhawks."

"Are you kidding? Those things will put a crater when they fire their b-cannons!" one captain voiced out.

"Not exactly. The battle-cannons have been exchanged for railguns. There'll be less worry for inaccurate fire."

"If you miss, there'll still be a chance of you putting one big hole in someone's front lawn," the captain continued.

"I know. But, my question for heavy support also brings up another matter, major. We are evacuating close to two hundred people, major. We _will_ need that kind of firepower – if only to dissuade the crowd from doing anything that would compromise the mission. It will, at least, buy us time."

Diana had to admit that Quistis had a very good point. And clearly, so did one of the marine captains, "She's got a point, chief. Time is our enemy here. And the Justice Swords might be bringing in more than just Goliaths. If we show them and the other extremists we're serious, they might just back off."

One of the female captains responded to her compatriot, "No chance, Larson. We're talking about the Justice Swords here. These guys are fanatics. You know that. Hell, I'll give half my year's pay on the bet that these bastards are helping Dollet fight us at Legland."

"How many dropships are we sending in, major?" a blonde-haired half-wingly SeeD asked.

"Six dropships."

The woman's eyes narrowed, "That will not be enough, major. From what you have said, there are close to two hundred people in the embassy. Six dropships can hold up to 180 people in total. There may be more. Have you considered that taken into account?"

"Yes, she has, Jaheira," Quistis said, coming to Diana's rescue, "Our four Thunderhawks will be used to accommodate the rest. One of the Thunderhawks will maintain escort formation to ensure that the extremists do not utilise any fighters on us."

"There is a chance that the Thunderhawk may be shot down, Quistis."

"I know, Jaheira. That is why I'm sending Irvine to the roof-top of the embassy to silence any potential threats to our escape," Quistis replied, giving the cowboy a hard stare that would have bent steel. It did not help the cowboy that Squall was also sending him the same stare.

"Not a problem," Irvine grinned, trying hard not to sweat bullets. Selphie tried her best to muffle her giggles. Being at the end of the 'Twin Ice Stares' was the worst possible thing that could happen to any cadet. It promised nothing short of a slow and agonising death. Even Major Diana could read the pain that was promised in the stares given to the unfortunate cowboy.

Major Diana clapped her hands, trying her best not to laugh despite the gravity of the situation, "All right, enough of that," and the smile left her face, "Now to the final detail: the Company who's going to do this. I'm not shitting you that the Commander decided I shoot the mission to any company I think best for the job. Instead, I'll do this fair and square. We draw lots. Oh, and Lieutenant Larson, I expect you to do your job if your company is picked for it. I don't want to see your biases get in the way of your job. If you screw this one and I hear about it – and I WILL – you can rest assured I'll shoot your sorry ass. Do I make myself clear, soldier?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. All right, boys," and she took out four straws, each held at them at equal level. One company would be chosen from this wheel of fortune. Four companies of marines; one was going right into the pressure cooker. It was anybody's guess who it would be. The four OCs of the marine companies got up and strode before the major. The platoon sergeants and lieutenants of all the companies held their breaths.

This is it…

Captain Maldred of Epsilon Company took a straw, before breathing a sigh of relief. A long straw. His platoon commanders and sergeants let out their tension in one long breath.

Captain Silvana Morathian of Jaguar Company took a straw. She, too, breathed a sigh of relief. A long straw. Jaguar Coy would not be dancing in this party.

Captain Ken Shadowind of the Black Company marines pulled out the straw, and his company's lieutenants and platoon sergeants held their breath. Ken gave vent to a startled curse that pronounced the fate of his company. A short straw – he and his company would have to go. He glared at the major, who smiled apologetically and shrugged.

She turned and faced the room, "As the decision has been made, all of you instead of the Black Company's officers and sergeants and the SeeDs, are dismissed."

Instants later, the room boasted only fifteen people out of the forty-five that had once crowded the briefing room. Two lieutenants, five platoon sergeants, the captain of the ill-fated company and the seven SeeD squad leaders faced Diana.

"I've already told you the mission objectives of the attempt to evacuate the embassy, and when I give you these last pieces of information, you will launch within ten minutes. I have been having information that there is an organisation believed to be behind the Justice Swords movement, and for a long time, the InterPol branches have been attempting to crack down on them for committed murders."

"Who are they, Diana?" Captain Ken asked.

"Have you ever heard of the Order of the Knights of the Temple?"

Diana saw Shateiel's head snap up at the mention of the Knights of the Temple, and for a brief moment, saw the amber eyes narrow. Did he know about this secret society? Obviously, because the hatred in his eyes was scorching.

"Major Diana?"

She snapped out of her observation, only to realise that the black-armoured SeeD had already lowered his head, seemingly disinterested in the whole affair.

"Sorry. Drifted off for a minute there. Where was I? Oh yes, the Knights of the Temple. Do you know of them?"

"Not so much so, major," Captain Ken replied. Most of his sergeants and lieutenants did likewise. She couldn't blame them. Only history buffs like her could remember what happened over several thousand years ago.

"Quistis?"

The blonde-haired SeeD was clearly trying to remember what she had learnt about them and it took her several minutes before she could answer, "Not much, save that records over the past several thousand years speak of them as a fanatical religious cult fighting a 'Holy Crusade' to wipe out the children of Bhaal, the Daemon Prince slain in the Age of Chaos.

"Their actions are hardly co-ordinated. Terrorist attacks here and there, more than enough murders that they get away with – even the Interpol cannot get enough data on the cult to bring them down. Any members that they capture are dead within the matter of a few hours – all mostly by their own hands or via an infiltrator sent to silence their compatriot.

"What Interpol does know about the Temple Knights are that they are spread throughout the system and they have been on Terra for over ten thousand years and have firm links to a Templar Order bearing the same name from the Age of Chaos."

"Impressive, Instructor Quistis. I see you do much reading – and you know what to expect. You heard what she said, ladies and gentlemen. Though I do not expect them to take a hand in this riot, you are to shoot them when you see them. These guys are professionals, people. They did not elude Interpol by being stupid or careless. Commander Squall, I trust you know what to do."

The SeeD Commander nodded.

Diana clapped her hands, "All right. That's it, people. Dismissed. Good luck."

_**Darmenia City, 1415 hrs, same day**_

Shateiel was leaning against the armoured bulkhead of the Thunderhawk, his head lowered, eyes closed and armoured arms crossed over his shimmering Shadow Cloak. Quistis noticed that the Dark Templar was armed to the teeth. Twin bolt pistols, frag grenades, power sword and bolter were but part of his arsenal. His immaculate black armour adorned with the sigils of the Imperial Dominion and the excommunicated Celestial Lions made him an imposing figure to look upon.

It was a habit, no doubt – one that had saved his life far too many times for him to contemplate giving up. Habits that Quistis could understand. A good ten feet from where Shateiel was standing, Squall was looking over the small holo-map of the city and the embassy. As was Squall's incurable habit, he would give the mission specifications and objectives a last look-over before he committed his strike force to the attack. Not that anyone in the Strike Force under Squall complained – their commander's meticulousness and foresight had saved them several times. If push did come to shove, the enemy often regretted cornering him.

One of the strike force members was talking to Minsc, the third member that had come in from Garden Falaris with the Mobile Suits. Quistis found Minsc likeable, if not a trifle bit odd. He had a pet hamster on his person – always – and spoke to it as though it were a normal person. Such behaviour on the part of ANY SeeD guaranteed a psychiatric evaluation in the near future – but Minsc was clearly the exception. From what Jaheira told her, the giant was a master sharpshooter. He was, quite literally, the Irvine of Garden Falaris.

But, Irvine would not stand a heartbeat against the likes of someone like Minsc – that much was evident. Quistis had seen the way the giant Minsc wielded his Thunder Hammer; no SeeD in his or her right mind wanted to be on the receiving end of that. A modified sniper rifle – easily as large as an autocannon – rested on the giant's shoulder. Hyne help _anyone_ who got into a fight with Minsc – the man was as deadly up close as he was from afar. The pressure door to the cockpit hissed open as one of the Thunderhawk's pilots stepped down briefly, "Sir? We're approaching the city. ETA to the embassy will be seven minutes."

Squall looked up from the holo-map and nodded. Irvine, who had been taking a short catnap, woke up, tipping his cowboy hat back.

"Is it time, Quisty?"

"Yes. Get up. The rest of you double-check your weapons and ensure your Guardian Forces are junctioned. This is it. Any last questions you want to ask?"

"Just one, sub-commander," one of the SeeDs asked, "From what the Galbadians told us, can we expect anything heavier than Goliaths?"

"Expect it," Squall cut in, "The Justice Swords' leader is the Darmenian Minister of Defence. If he wants to bring in Siege Tanks, there'll be little we can do to prevent it. That's why I'm repeating Major Diana's instructions – get in, grab the ambassadors, and get out. We don't have any heavy weapons on us except for the ones on the Thunderhawks. Anything else?"

Only silence.

"Good," and Squall switched to his communicator, "Thunderhawks Bravo, Charlie and Delta, do you copy?"

"Bravo here. Roger."

"Charlie. Roger."

"Delta. Affirmative."

"Bravo, Charlie, I want you both to drop your squads and maintain position on the ground to help in the evacuation with me. Delta, do the same, and after that take a patrol formation over the embassy. You have a green light to neutralise any and all targets that threaten the embassy," Squall instructed.

"Will do. Delta out."

"ETA three minutes, commander," spoke the Thunderhawk's pilot, "We're approaching the city outskirts."

"Everyone belt in. This might get rough," Quistis instructed.

"It will," Squall said, "I'm counting on it."

On the Galbadian marine dropships, Captain Ken Shadowind of the Black Company stepped out of the cockpit and regarded his soldiers. All of them were double-checking their hellguns and power cells to ensure that everything was in order. Many of them were bitching about the fact that their company had to be the one to do the dirty work – and Ken couldn't particularly blame them. They had already taken an infiltration and destroy mission in Dollet three weeks back – and now this!

_Let them bitch_, he thought, _Because if they didn't, I'll start to worry._

"Okay, you sorry bastards," Ken roared over the din, "We're reaching the drop zone. Double-check your weapons – and if you have already done it, then do it again! You have time! Go by the numbers, people, because we cannot afford screw-ups. You all know your mission objectives."

Suddenly, the dropship pitched sideways, causing the captain to crash on the floor – hard. He yelled, "Control, what the hell are you doing?"

"Flak Goliaths! The Justice Swords have sent us a welcoming committee!"

"Damn it! Damage report!"

"Minor damage to outer hull area! Get some people on the autocannons, chief!" the pilot said, before swerving the dropship again.

"Gary, Roise, Du'nell and Valerie – the guns! NOW!"

Four marines hurriedly unbuckled their safety harnesses and rushed to the dropship's defensive emplacements. Instants later, the four autocannons mounted on the dropship opened up in a furious roar of gunfire. A furious roar from the other dropships told the marine captain that the other dropships were letting the Flak Goliaths have it as well.

"Control, have all dropships rush towards the embassy. We should have done this shit run at night – and not in bloody daylight! Inform Central Control – tell them what's happening – " and the ship rocked again, "and tell the SeeDs that the mission objectives' change as of now!"

"Yes sir!"

The ship pitched again, and Ken saw one of the Flak Goliaths take a direct railgun shot from one of the SeeD Thunderhawks before a hunter-killer missile knocked one of its legs clean off.

"Tell the SeeDs to clear a flight path from the embassy or the dropships will be endangered."

Almost immediately, Ken's communicator activated, "Black Knight, this is Lion Heart. I'll have Teams Bravo, Charlie and Delta clear a flight path from the embassy. I'll join you in the evac."

That damn SeeD was one step ahead of him –

"Roger that."

– but that was not surprising.

Captain Ken leapt towards on of the seats and strapped himself in as the dropship made another furious swerve. The men and women of his company cursed virulently, their swear words deafened by the explosions outside and the roar of the dropships' defensive guns.

"Control, how many minutes till we reach our destination? Tell me, Hyne damn it!"

The pilot's reply was immediate, "Thirty seconds. I can see the Embassy from here."

"The SeeDs?"

"Three of their Thunderhawks have spread out throughout the city. Only their leader is still with us. We'd better make this mission a quick one."

"Tell me something that I don't know."

"There are over half a thousand pissed people down there screaming for our blood, captain."

An anger-cross appeared on the marine captain's head.

"I said 'Tell me something I don't know', idiot!"

He swore the pilot was grinning on the other end of the communicator.

Squall Leonhart had expected an unfriendly welcome – and he was not surprised when Goliaths equipped with Hydra Flak Guns started firing on the convoy as soon as they entered the city's territorial airspace. The extremist factions wanted to pay hell on Galbadia – and this was a very good time to do it. Vengeance does not wait for the other party's convenience. The SeeDs that manned and piloted the Thunderhawks were part of the Garden's flight teams, each under the command of the strike force commander they were assigned to.

Squall glanced to every member in the Thunderhawk; all of them nodded. Everyone was ready. There was no more need for words to be exchanged.

"May the Goddess watch over you," Jaheira spoke.

"Amen," everyone echoed as the Thunderhawk landed beside the marine dropships.

Then the pressurised ramp disengaged and slammed down, and the SeeDs rushed towards their objective with the Galbadian marines.


	14. Chapter 12

_**Chapter 12: Thunderhawk Down…**_

_**Galbadian Embassy, Darmenia City, 1518 hrs, 10**__**th**__** August 4051**_

The embassy was a mess. Both SeeD Strike Force and Galbadian marine company had expected a lot of trouble – but not on the scale that they were witnessing. The embassy was an old Darmenian palace located in the oldest section of the city and its spires and battlements have borne witness to the passing of over twelve thousand years. Its foundations stood strong still and had been reinforced in the preceding centuries. Many a time, the old palace had been the seat of Emperors before its was used by Galbadia to be its embassy.

It was the pride of the Darmenian people, a show that they have strode across the ages without surrendering their traditions. But, hate and wrath can overcome that pride – and national treasures can be desecrated without a second thought. Especially when that treasure was further desecrated by the infidels who took refuge within it, waiting for their rescuers to come.

Vengeance would not be denied so easily…not even if the criminals hid behind the walls of something that the Darmenian people valued.

The security troopers that had been assigned to guard the external premises were forced to withdraw behind the walls of the old palace. Thirty men armed with assault rifles could do little to stop a horde more than ten times their number – and growing. Like a seething horde of angry ghosts, they surged beyond the security barricades that had been erected, howling insults, throwing stones and screaming with the rage of generations oppressed by the influence of a foreign power. A makeshift battering ram slammed against the palace's reinforced doors. On the rooftops of nearby houses, men with rifles traded shots with the embassy's defenders.

Captain Ken gave instructions to his four platoons; two were to secure the rooftops of any potential threat to the dropships that would be used to evacuate the embassy. One would secure the internal perimeter while the last guarded the dropships. Never mind the orders Major Diana or the idiotic politicians gave – this was a battleground; words were no match for guys with guns and a desire to use your head as the target.

Irvine and two SeeDs followed the two platoons to the rooftop.

Selphie and three others divided themselves into two groups and joined the platoon securing the internal perimeter.

Squall, Quistis and five other SeeDs – including the 3 Dark Templars – went about neutralising every weakness that they could find within the palace. Walls and entire segments of the embassy were soon brought down with the use of melta-bombs and demolition charges – rendering the entire area inaccessible.

Things went downhill when the security troopers began informing them that many men and women had started scaling the walls using grappling ropes; all of them were armed. Grim looks were exchanged between the security forces and the evacuation teams; this was the worst-case scenario – the embassy becoming a battleground.

The SeeDs began breaking themselves up into kill-teams, stalking the stalkers with a cold, murderous precision that made the marines – and the crowd below to realise their presence – realise all over again why SeeDs were so feared. Their basic training and indoctrination saw to it that they buried everything that was human about them under an icy demeanour as they went about their bloody work. Within twenty minutes, bodies of the extremists that had rappelled their way into the embassy soon littered the corridors; those that managed to penetrate soon found death waiting for them.

Captain Ken was using the time bought by the SeeDs and his company to evacuate the embassy. He had gone as far as to alter the evacuation plans completely by having three squads of Squall Leonhart's strike force secure a route from the embassy; if push came to shove, he would have the dropships meet the carrier in orbit. And from the way things are looking now, it might just come to that.

Using the long-range communications equipment on the SeeD's Thunderhawk, Captain Ken had radioed the _Wolfguard_ to request another company join them at the embassy. His expectations were dashed when the political officer on board interceded, demanding that he complete his mission with what he had on hand.

"I'm telling you that this entire place is becoming a war-zone! If you don't send me reinforcements, I can bloody assure you that we can kiss this mission goodbye. We will not be able to even get the ambassadorial staff into orbit before the extremists plop a blasted lascannon on them!"

"Then what are the bloody SeeDs doing? Loafing?"

"There are close to 20 veteran SeeDs trying to clear a path for the dropships to reach the Wolfguard. They are not having it easy. Likewise, we are having our hands full."

"How many have you managed to evacuate, captain?"

"None!"

"And why is that?" the political officer roared on the other end of the line.

"Because if we tried, they'll be blown out of the sky! One of the Thunderhawks has reported that there are close to three squadrons of Flak Goliaths and AT-Goliaths advancing on our position. This place will turn into a war zone if we don't get help quickly!"

Captain Ken's fist almost crashed through the screen where the face of the political officer's face was superimposed before him. Damn these politicians! Did they not understand the situation here? Yes, Squall Leonhart was here – that was perhaps the reason why this place had yet to come collapsing about his ears!

"And I am telling you that if we send another company to help you evacuate, the political situation may well be damaged beyond any hope of repair."

"I am in the middle of negotiating with the Justice Swords' leader to have him pull his soldiers back."

"It does not seem to be working!" Ken shouted, his thunderous voice soon deafened by the sound of a massive explosion and screams followed by another explosion that caused the Thunderhawk to shake violently.

"What the hell was that?" he shouted towards the pilot.

The SeeD pilot shouted back, "Direct hit on one of the palace's towers. It came crashing down on one of the dropships."

Ken swore. Oh, it couldn't get any worse, could it?

"Alexson, this mission is on the verge of going to hell – and I know it. The SeeDs are holding back because they don't want to have to turn a large portion of the city into a graveyard; that does not mean that they won't do it. And we are talking about Squall Leonhart and his personal bodyguard."

"All the more reason for this mission to succeed."

The political officer's face suddenly froze as he stared at someone – or something – standing behind him. Ken turned around – slowly – to see Shateiel glaring at the Political Officer. The calm, cool gaze that the young Dark Templar was directing the Political Officer was one that would have given devils pause. It was a gaze that promised a slow and agonising death.

"Political Officer Alexson. You would do well to heed the captain's advice. He is quite right. The situation _may well_ go out of hand. Negotiating with the leader of the Justice Swords is a waste of time."

Shateiel's black armour was wet with blood, and Ken could see the strange, taloned fist of his left hand was crimson with gore and bloody strips of flesh. His face was half-covered with blood, making the amber eyes burn brighter with blood-thirst. Not the kind of face anyone wanted to see in the morning – or in their last moments.

"You will bring in the support he requested, Political Officer Alexson. If you do not, and the mission does fail, rest assured that I _will_ come for you…" and suddenly he was cut off as a marine rushed in. His face was one of controlled fear.

"We have a problem."

"What is it?" Ken asked.

"One of the SeeD Thunderhawks has been brought down. It's the third squad."

"Are you sure?"

"Abso-fragging-lutely."

The Dark Templar flinched and turned back to the communications screen, "Political Officer Alexson, you are now a liability. Step aside and let me speak to Commander Rigard. I have Commander Squall's authority for the time being."

"You wouldn't dare…"

"_**I **_dare, Alexson. Because if this mission goes down, so will you – one way or the other. And with me, the fall will be literal."

The Political Officer was pushed aside by Major Diana, "Is the situation that bad?"

"It is. I recommend a magnum launch of every available starfighter and the three marine companies on standby. The ambassadorial staff will be evacuated into orbit. We can no longer rely on the air route."

"Understood. We will send in the starfighters into your position."

"And have the Political Officer speak to the Justice Swords' leader and President Arsoud. Tell the former that he has but an hour to pull back his forces – or we _will_ retaliate. If the mob below gets caught in the ensuing firefight, it will be none of our business."

Major Diana's face hardened, but she nodded, "I understand. Captain Ken, you know what to do. We will be in orbit in an hour."

"Yes, sir."

The communicator went off, and the marine captain looked at the Dark Templar, "And what are you going to do?"

"I'll inform Commander Squall about his trapped squad. You get the embassy staff into the dropships and this Thunderhawk. When the hour up, launch them at full burn into orbit where the Wolfguard will pick them up."

"You know that if things get bad, we may have to fight our way clear of the city."

"That is a distinct possibility."

"What are you going to do?"

The Dark Templar strode towards the Thunderhawk's entrance, "I will have to go help Squall's trapped squad. This entire city is hostile – and that means I don't have to hold back. This is Darkness. Lion Heart, do you copy?"

"Lion Heart. Roger."

"We have a Code Echo Delta. Squad 3's Thunderhawk has been shot down."

"What?!"

"You heard me, Commander. Squad 3's Thunderhawk has been shot down – they're stranded."

Another voice spoke, "Shateiel, are you certain of this?"

"Yes. One of the marines reported that he saw the Thunderhawk spiral down. I don't know if there are survivors though. The mission has been compromised, Squall. I have requested the Wolfguard to take position in orbit within the hour and we will send the transports there. We will have to clear an entire region of any possible threat to the dropships – in addition to rescuing the trapped squad."

There was a brief silence to over the comm-net.

"We may have to fight our way out of the city."

"That _is_ a high probability. The Political Officer abroad the Wolfguard will try to…negotiate. I don't think he will succeed."

Another brief silence.

"Were there government troops in the engagement?"

Shateiel exchanged looks with the captain, who immediately flipped on his communicator and radioed all of his platoon leaders and sergeants, "This is Alpha 1 to Hunting Packs, I want a sit-rep. Have any of you faced any government troops?"

An avalanche of negatives swamped the marine captain. Ken turned towards Shateiel and said, "Only the security troopers – and those are not happy with the Justice Swords either."

"Lion Heart. Negative on that. The only government troops are the security troopers locked in here with us."

"Put them abroad one of the dropships when we evacuate. We'll drop them back in Darmenian soil when the dropships pick us up outside the city."

"Affirmative, commander."

Shateiel switched off his communicator, and smiled, "He's better than I gave him credit to be. This should be interesting," and turned to Captain Ken, the smile becoming a predatory grin of a murderous ghost, "We had better hurry, Captain. I do not want civilians where they do not belong. Once that is done, we may have to fight out way clear of the city."

"But that will mean…"

"Yes."

_**Wolfguard Launch Bay, 1530 hrs, 10**__**th**__** August 4051**_

The scene on the Wolfguard was utter hell as the technicians rushed to prepare the starfighters and the remaining dropships on the carrier for launch. When word got to the crew about one of the SeeD's Thunderhawks getting shot down and their fellows trapped in the midst of a growing crowd, the entire ship sprang to action.

Fast Arrow Interceptor squadrons howled out from the decks, with one in three bearing melta torpedoes to take out any tanks that the Darmenian militia groups would throw against their compatriots. The marine companies on standby – Epsilon, Jaguar and Ulysses – were given their orders as they got ready to drop into the hot-zone. This was the worst case scenario, and it promised to get even worse. All the marines were in their bulky power suits and carrying gauss rifles and rotary cannons in preparation for the urban fighting that would follow.

Light attack vehicles would act as the marines' heavy support as they fought their way into the city. Even now, the Political Officer was trying his best to tell the extremist leaders to withdraw or suffer the consequences. Everyone on ship agreed unanimously that the time for talk was over. If the extremists wanted a fight, they would get one.

Diana Rinter watched the events unfolding on the deck, unable to resist from biting her lip in worry. Lieutenant-Commander Rigard had told her that he will deal with the politicians – with a gun if need be. With Squall Leonhart behind him, the sheer political clout that he could bring to bear was nothing short of a power fist into anyone's face. It would mean an immediate end to a politician's career in short order – no matter how powerful.

She had felt nervousness like this all too many times when she had been a common line lieutenant. It was so long ago, but the feelings engendered during times of tension like this were undeniable. She remembered her friends from those times – and she found it heartbreaking that there were so few of them. Out of a battalion of close to 5000 men and women, less than a hundred would be dispersed amongst the Armed Forces or honourably discharged. When Diana had become CAG of the _Incarnae_ battle-group, she made an effort to bring surviving members of her battalion together. It proved to be a wise decision.

One such woman strode into the command deck, clad in a vest and rolled up overalls. One eye-patch and a hideous scar adorned half of her face, hidden beneath bangs of red hair. Without caring a whit for what she looked like – and not that the control crew cared – she spoke, "Like old times, eh, Diana?"

"You tell me, Tika. Goddess above, why is it that even without Sarles, misfortune simply jumps onto my lap?"

The reminder of her old friend – and lover's – name brought up the favour he had requested. She did not know what it was about, but Diana had an inkling as to why he asked what he asked. And after that political debacle several weeks back, it was not entirely unreasonable. After all, Diana owed the ex-soldier an arm and a leg – literally.

Tika laughed briefly before becoming serious, "We're almost ready, Diana. My people and the marines are loading up the trikes and Quads onto the dropship. We'll need another 10 minutes before I can give the green light on the launch."

"I hope the boys can hold on till we get there."

"Don't worry. They will. They have four members of the Sorceress team and 25 veteran SeeDs with them."

"Yes. But there have an entire hostile city surrounding them."

Tika chewed her lip, "So? We have close to 30 veteran SeeDs on this mission alone. I wouldn't worry _too_ much. The right-wing extremists will soon learn just _how_ hard SeeD veterans are – and how merciless. They will regret forcing the Squall's strike force into an offensive posture."

"You sound like you've seen Leonhart in action before, Tika."

"I have."

Tika's eyes studied one of the dropships where the light assault vehicles were being loaded, "I was with the assault companies that Seifer led when he attacked Balamb Garden. By all rights, Balamb Garden should have been a charred pile of wreckage when we got there to mop up the survivors. Instead, we found Balamb Garden airborne – and when they encountered us – were spoiling for a fight. Over 400 men and women boarded Balamb – outnumbered at that time – and less than a hundred came back, many of those with severe injuries.

"Later, intelligence got word that Squall Leonhart was the one who caused our assault to fail. It just went downhill from there. Hunter-Killer teams were sent to bring him down during the Sorceress War – none of them came back. We found their bodies.

"And if over a thousand Special Forces operatives failed to bring Squall and his team down, imagine the carnage 28 veteran SeeDs are capable of dishing out. The Justice Swords have signed their death sentences and are about to pay for it with massive collateral damage."

"This is going to be like Shudra City all over again," Tika whispered.

"Yeah. Only thing is this. It's going to get a whole lot worse."

"Why do you say that, Diana?"

The major wrapped her arms around herself, trying to ward off a chill that only she could feel. A voice she recognised spoke in her mind, _'Really? I beg to differ, lieutenant. War is the reason of SeeD's existence. We do not 'play soldier'. We will get the job done – no matter the cost and no matter what it takes.'_

"Because, as Alexson has said, the SeeDs down there are veteran SeeDs. And Squall Leonhart and three of his Sorceress team members lead them. Accompanying them are 3 of Garden Falaris's Special Forces. All elite soldiers. Trapped in a city with no way out. Do you know where this is going to go?"

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Tika replied, "Darmenia City is going to look like hell tomorrow morning."

_**0430 hrs 11**__**th**__** August 4051, Wolfguard Landing bay**_

The last dropship swooped into the Wolfguard's hangar where waiting medics rushed into the crew compartment. They carted out the bloodied bodies of the marines that had been involved in the extrication mission 12 hours prior. The president of Darmenia heeded the words of the Political Officer abroad the Wolfguard and had mobilised the national army and ordered the Justice Swords to stand down. Both the soldiers of Darmenia's national army and the Galbadian marines would describe bloody running battles through the alleyways and streets of the ancient city as they traded shots with the extremist militias. Even so, many of the marines said that the effort of Darmenia's national army was half-hearted.

The SeeDs converged on where the Thunderhawk of the 3rd squad of the Strike Force had crashed. They found the survivors fighting from the wreckage of the gunship against a mob almost a hundred times their size. The wrath of the SeeDs was terrifying to behold and cold-blooded in the extreme – and it was driven home when one of them went berserk at the crash site. The pitiful few that survived spoke of a devil that swooped down and brought the sky down with him, instants before the rest of the SeeDs massacred the mob. The mountain of rent corpses they left in their wake was enough to terrify the militia and national army into paralysis.

A warning had been given – the SeeDs had spoken – and had gone unheeded. And how Squall wished that they had. It would have averted the massacre that had followed.

Despite the agitation and urgency of the medical orderlies and the technicians abroad the carrier, the mood of both the marine companies and the SeeD Strike Force was silent and sombre. Many of them had crashed down against the nearest available support the moment they disembarked from the battered dropships and Thunderhawks.

The SeeDs sat in a silent group, unspeaking, as they tended to each other's injuries. They had lost the equivalent of an entire squad in action, including the pilots of the crashed Thunderhawk, and had to fight their way clear of the city. Squall Leonhart winced as his golden-haired aide tightened a bandage around his arm where a lucky swing with a chainsword had managed to cut through his carapace armour. Quistis was as quiet as Squall as she saw to his wounds. Seeing Squall half-naked was one thing many girls would have died wanting to see, but such was the sombre air abroad the carrier that no one paid him any mind.

No doubt, Squall was replaying the events that had happened in his mind several hours prior. Each death dealt by his hand – no matter how justified – was another life taken away. An extinguished flame that cannot be re-ignited. Oh, there were those who could perform the rites of _Resurrection_, but such knowledge was the province of the inner circle of the Church of Hyne and the Everqueen of Suldanesselar.

How he had changed.

There was once upon a time when Squall didn't care who stood in his way. Man or woman or child – it mattered not. He was a SeeD; the tears that were shed for him will come from those who knew him, and Quistis knew that they were fewer than the fingers of his two hands. His victims will have more than he will ever have.

That Squall – cold and ruthless – had changed when he had met an angel named Rinoa. For all that Quistis had tried to extend a hand to Squall ever since the traumatic childhood he had, it was Rinoa that had healed him. Though, no different in the way he fought, he was now at least able to trust his friends instead of going it alone as he used to.

Quistis glanced up to the kneeling forms of the Mobile Suits of Garden Falaris. All 3 of the Dark Templars sat quietly beneath the central one. The blonde senior instructor saw that Jaheira was speaking quietly to Shateiel, and that the latter was clearly ignoring her. His armoured shoulders were slumped over, as though bearing a great weight, and the amber eyes were cloudy.

She couldn't blame him. Jaheira had told her what had happened a year ago, during Time Compression, and the memory of what he had done then triggered the berserk rage. She did not specify the place it happened, but made it clear that it was just as unpleasant. If the SeeDs had been fighting to get out of the city, Shateiel had been fighting to decimate their enemies. And he had succeeded spectacularly. For six nightmarish hours, the Dark Templar had created such terror that the militia were soon jumping at every shadow and more than a hundred of them had fallen due to friendly fire.

The sound of heavy jackboots striding towards her made Quistis look up from tending Squall's wounds. Shateiel stood over them both, his Stealth Robe shimmering over his blood-drenched black armour with its Celestial Lion motifs. Amber eyes blue-grey eyes.

"It is never easy, is it?"

Quistis had no idea what the Dark Templar was talking about, but she sensed that Squall did.

"It was never meant to be."

A brooding silence stretched between the two before Shateiel strode away.

"What was that about?" Quistis asked.

"A question I often ask myself."

Quistis felt puzzled, but said nothing. Squall would most certainly say nothing if he chose not to. Hoping to take his mind off darker thoughts, as was his wont when he brooded, Quistis asked a question that would knock him out of it, "So, when are you and Rinoa getting married?"

"Huh?"

The look on Squall's face was a classic. Confusion and shock all rolled into one adorable whole. Quistis saw in that look the boy she had watched over when they had been in the orphanage – utterly speechless and unable to consolidate his mental faculties for a comeback.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said, when are you and Rinoa getting married?"

The confused look on Squall's face slipped away, making Quistis wonder if she made a terrible mistake by asking.

"Squall?"

"I've asked."

Quistis's lips compressed into a thin line as she wrapped the last bandage around his arm. The look on Squall's face told the instructor all she needed to know about the Sorceress's answer. But why would she refuse? Quistis knew first-hand how deeply the raven-haired Sorceress loved her man.

Squall lowered his head, not understanding why he was telling Quistis this, but knowing who had changed him in such a fashion. Once upon a time, he wouldn't have cared. When Ellone had left him, he had raised a barrier of ice that kept everyone away for 10 long years. Until one raven-haired angel came and broke that icy wall down without even needing to try.

Rinoa had wanted to accept his proposal; he could see it in her gentle, brown eyes. Long before she had inherited Ultimecia's terrible power, she would have leapt like the sprightly girl that would have put Selphie to shame. But, after that, she changed. No more was she the spoilt princess when she inherited such terrible power. In the place of that spoilt princess was an angelic sorceress – one that had learnt how heavy her burden was. The terrible fear that she might eventually become Ultimecia and, one day, turn the Black Sorceress's furious power upon those she loved.

She had seen and felt first-hand the scale of Ultimecia's power – for Terra to experience it a second time would be catastrophic.

"But why…?" Quistis asked.

"I don't know. I wish I…." Squall trailed off as a small shuttle landed in the wolf-guard's launch bay. Quistis followed his gaze and her blue eyes narrowed. Squall spoke before she did, but his voice conveyed the icy annoyance, "The CNN. Let's get out of here. I don't feel like talking."

"Understood," Quistis replied. She did not fail to notice that the marines and her fellow SeeDs were quickly making themselves scarce. After a mission like this, nobody wanted to talk. Squall pulled himself to his feet, ignoring the pain of his injuries.

"Let me help you," said Quistis as she threw one armoured arm around Squall. It was then that Shiva finally spoke. Her wintry voice echoed in his mind.

_ How are your injuries? _

_I'll live._

_ You were careless this time. If I didn't block that shot, you'd have been dead _

_That doesn't change the fact that you and I have been injured._

_ True _

_I have to wonder, though. How is it that the CNN got word of this so fast? _

_ I would believe that this debacle was already known in public channels. And, if my guess is accurate, I would say they anticipated this. The nation of Darmenia has always hated Galbadia. For this to erupt would come to no surprise _

_Though I doubt they had anticipated the scale of the violence that had erupted._

_ Indeed _

Squall's mind replayed the vicious battles fought in the streets. The rescue teams had stormed the city with merciless precision, reinforced by starfighters and light assault vehicles. In the space of a few hours, entire segments of the ancient city became battlegrounds. From what Quistis had told him earlier, the casualties had numbered close to 500 dead and twice that many injured.

It had been a bloody day.

_'This is SeeD, Puberty Boy. It's not play-acting anymore. This is for real. You make one mistake, you die, end of story. It's not my business if you want to. But remember this, you screw up, and __**I'll**__ be on your case.'_ Seifer.

The CNN shuttle's pressure door hissed open, unfolding into steps that led down to the launch bay. Two of the inter-planetary company's most prominent reporters – Angelica Calway and her partner, Derrick Evers – rushed down with their camera crew. The latter quickly set up the broadcasting apparatus within moments.

By then, many of the marines and SeeDs had already left the launch bay. Irvine needed more coaxing from Selphie – and was led away by the ear before the dashing cowboy could get the chance to flirt with the red-haired reporter. Seeing that many of her potential interviewees were disappearing, the Angelica hoped to rush one before he or she could get away. Her green eyes descended upon one such person – one known throughout Terra.

Squall Leonhart was being helped away by Quistis Trepe. Oh, what a scoop that would make. Angelica rushed towards him, only to be stopped by someone blocking her way. Wearing coveralls and hefting an enormous wrench on her shoulder, the scarred Chief Technician of the Wolfguard stopped her from going any further.

"Hey!"

"Now, now, girl. Now is not a good time. If you want details, you'll talk to the CAG."

"But –" the reporter protested.

Another voice cut in, "Now, now, Tika. Don't go scaring the girl like that. She has a job to do, like all of us."

Angelica turned to see a pony-tailed officer striding towards her. There was a slight limp in her otherwise graceful gait that spoke of old war injuries. She stopped several feet before Angelica, "I am Major Diana Rinter, CAG of the Wolfguard. Welcome abroad, Miss Angelica. I will be more than glad to answer your questions."


	15. Chapter 13

_**Chapter 13: Return of the King**_

_**Battleship Stormfury en route to Galbadian military starport, 1310 hrs, 16**__**th**__** August 4051**_

Richter Deling smiled, his hands steepled as his massive battleship broke through the atmosphere above the Galbadian continent and descended through the clouds, the heat shielding turning lava red from the immense temperatures of re-entry and the ship shook violently from turbulence. His trip had taken far longer than he had expected, and no doubt, there would be questions as to why he had extended his trip. But, he had found an answer to Galbadia's dream to be great again!

Lady had made good her promise

The ancient battle-platform of the Sa-matra held power enough to devastate a continent, and even though its technology was five hundred years old, it was formidable as history texts spoke of it. A looming monster in the heavens, gazing down upon a world with steely talons and grim eyes that bespoke of the Imperial Dominion's desire to reign over Terra.

But, that had not been all.

Within that platform held the promise of the ultimate bio-weapon that Galbadia could use to her advantage in the many wars that would plague them as it re-ascended the ladder to greatness. Lady had shown him the monstrous, alien _Zerg_. These, she had told them, were but drones, but from these drones, they were capable of producing other strains. With these, Richter would have a monstrous army that could overwhelm even the might of the Imperial Dominion.

There had been a catch. He had to control these monsters. Lady told him that the Zerg are extremely susceptible to great psionic power, and had deduced that the Zerg followed their designated duties via telepathy. The Zerg were genetically incapable -- from what Lady told him -- of disobeying their commands. He had asked, however, why the Imperial Dominion had not unleashed these monsters to aid in their quest for global conquest before expanding their forces to the stars during the Usurpation War.

She could not answer, but came up on the conclusion that the Imperial Dominion had attempted to control the Zerg before their enemies boarded the battle-platform and brought an end to the Dominion's dreams. But, she came up with the plans for the Psi-Emitter that would allow Richter – and Galbadia – to control the Zerg swarms.

The dream was so close that Richter could almost taste it. He had left a good number of his personal marines and technicians on the Sa-matra, to repair and upgrade as many of its defunct old systems as possible, so as to make it battle-worthy and space-worthy. Such power was useless if the systems were so old it could barely move a foot or unable to fire its beam cannons. The exploration of the Sa-matra had taken several days which Richter could have spent trying to consolidate his political powers. There was no question that the more…nationalistic elements of Galbadia were displeased with his non-aggressive stance.

He turned to see Salvanna, reclining on one of the seats next to his own, as well as Lady, who leaned on the view-screen, arms crossed and eyes closed. The drow woman had been so awed that her caustic and sarcastic comments of 'human works' had been silenced so totally that Richter found it hard to contain his laughter.

To all of them who had watched the Sa-matra appear, it looked like a sleeping dark god, his black wings furled around his armoured form, awaiting the right moment to be awakened in the future. The interiors of the battle-platform were full of memories of that distant era. Even the countless bodies of slain Imperial soldiers and their adversaries that had boarded the platform had been preserved for the last five hundred years.

Blood had stained the walls and floors of many sections of the great star-fortress, and the vicious intensity of the battle was plain to see. Whether it be in deadly firefights or brutal close combat, the cathedral-like stillness of the Sa-matra bore witness to it all. It was a monument that told the story of an army of outnumbered heroes against an adversary a thousand times their number.

It spoke of the determination to win, or die trying, with the stakes so high that only the offering of life and soul upon the altar of battle in exchange for victory was acceptable. Richter had wept and smiled fiercely at the sight. Here…here was where the souls of warriors congregated.

Few men in all of Terra could have such a eulogy.

Few men – but Richter had borne witness to one such person. Squall Leonhart and his Sorceress Team stood alongside these long-dead heroes – Imperial Dominion or otherwise. Few men could match the ambition of the Imperial Dominion's Emperor during the time of the Usurpation War as Seifer Almasy, Galbadia's supreme commander under Sorceress Ultimecia, had.

There was a man Richter Deling wanted on his side when he went forth to claim his destiny – and proffer it upon his people to show that all their generations of hoping, toiling and fighting had not been for naught. Seifer Almasy may be an ex-SeeD, but to the Galbadian President's eyes, he was still one.

The plans that Richter Deling began to formulate in his mind were many, and only with the successful completion of one phase, could he enter the next. The Sa-matra was his now, but he knew that he had to keep his trump card hidden, lest the Imperial Dominion and the other superpowers contested Galbadia's possession of it. However, it was the perfect time to test the Zerg upon the unsuspecting Dollet Dukedom – but he could do so only after the Psi-Emitter stations were completed. With that, Galbadia would sweep aside Dollet best defences and bring the Dukedom to its very knees, thus uniting the Galbadian continent under a single flag.

And from there, he could emulate the dream of the Dominion – and succeed where they failed. But first, he had to do something his brother had done – start a war. But, unlike him, Richter would make sure he had a _damn good_ reason to start one.

A few minutes later, Richter's flagship cleared the sea of clouds with its escorts, which was – to an observant eye – much smaller than when it had originally left many days before.

_**Balamb Garden, 16**__**th**__** August 4051, 1320 hrs**_

Rinoa Heartilly felt exhausted as she held the railing with one slender hand, enjoying the wind that whipped her long chocolate-highlighted raven hair about her slender shoulders. The days since Squall had left had not been particularly easy to her, for the dreams had caused her to enter a waking nightmare. Her eyes now held deep shadows, and a haunted look that made even Zell worried about his friend. It was as though those dreams were showing her one possibility out of many that could happen ever since Ultimecia's defeat.

But she began to notice things that caused a deep sense of déjà vu in her. Whatever she had seen in her dreams started becoming real. The rise of Richter Deling after Ultimecia's defeat by Squall, when the first defeated his opponents in a brief – and bitter – power struggle before claiming the presidency of Galbadia. The earth-shaking event of the destruction of Shining Hill and the murder of the general and his family within the secure fastness of the Shining Tower had been preceded by an image of a hooded Angel of Death striding into the flames of the Ishtarian fortress's broken legend.

Then, came true the news that she had heard over the CNN that the mission to evacuate the ambassadors of the Galbadian Alliance had fallen apart. Rinoa felt her heart and stomach hit the floor before her platter of food did when news of heavy fighting had broken out between the rescue force, government troops and the extremist militias and their supporters. Another one of her prophetic dreams had come true.

"There you are," a voice whispered, and Rinoa turned around quickly, startled. Squall stood there, having returned some three days before from the evacuation mission that had almost gone wrong. She smiled, as strong arms wrapped around her.

"You still look tired, Rinoa."

Never one to speak much, Rinoa knew those few words expressed his concern over her welfare.

"I'm alright, Squall."

"You sure?"

Rinoa sighed, and looked into the distance where the mountains of the Balamb mountain range could be seen clearly, "Squall. What happened in Darmenia? I've tried prising the details out of Quistis, Zell, Selphie and Irvine. They're not telling me. Your strike force is not telling me. And even the Dark Templars are keeping quiet – which is no surprise. And the CNN are keeping some important details out of the picture. Can you trust me enough to tell me what happened there?"

Rinoa arrested herself when she heard those last words escape her lips. What was she doing? Standing, holding her from behind, was the same man who had literally walked into Hell without a second thought to challenge a Daughter of Hyne he had no hope of winning; the same young man who did so because _**she**_had been there.

The Sorceress bit her lip, trying to mouth out an apology, when she saw the expression on Squall's face. She had better move faster than Shiva to cover the hole before it sunk the ship. She quickly switched to a light-hearted topic, "But, if you don't want to tell me, that's fine. There is another thing I wanted to ask you. Quistis asked me when I'm going to drag you to the altar."

A choke told Rinoa all that she needed to know that she had succeeded in de-railing Squall's sombre thoughts. Shiva cheered in her mind. The Guardian Force of Ice would be howling in laughter by the time Rinoa was through with her lover.

"I would like that," she continued, "being with you as we raise our children, watching as the sun set like this behind blue-white waves of the sea."

Even as she spoke, she could feel the heat of him flushing in embarrassment. She turned, her lips curling up in a mischievous grin, "And I don't mind starting tonight."

"Rinoa!!"

He looked plain uncomfortable at the thought of having his smaller, spit-image sons and Rinoa's tinier counterparts playing havoc with him, and Rinoa could almost imagine how adorable he would have looked -- utterly helpless as his children crowded around him. Even Quistis had smiled at that thought of Squall being so utterly helpless. If asked to choose between dealing with a band of Ultimecias, hordes of monsters and demons, a hundred Seifers or children, Squall would most certainly choose the band of Ultimecias, the horde of demons and monsters AND a hundred Seifers hands down anytime.

But Rinoa had not been blind to the loving, jealous fire that burned in her blue eyes. She wanted to feel jealous, but could not. Quistis had a closer rapport with Squall, having grown up with him. It was not surprising that she would bear the same dreams.

But, only one woman could have Squall's heart, and Rinoa counted herself fortunate that she had been the one.

But for how long?

The dreams were already starting to become reality. And there is one nightmare out of her reach, out of her sight and senses, but one that she could feel in her troubled heart.

"I'll tell you, if you want," Squall started, his eyes haunted, "You are right. There are some things you have a right to know. CNN is reporting what we want them to report; if news got out of what really happened and why it happened when it did, it would give our Foreign Affairs department a lot of trouble."

Uh-oh.

Mission failed.

Not good.

Rinoa smiled all the same, glad that what he was doing now was a testament to how much he had changed. Over a year ago, he would _never_ talk about his missions. Whatever he had seen and suffered was kept behind that wall of ice, scarring him inside. Squall turned from her and looked at the sky.

He told her of how the mission started off, and the causes of it.

He told her of the marines who had been assigned to help them.

He told her of the possible dangers he had anticipated – and how it came crashing down.

Then, he told her of the vicious breakout that had followed.

1 Galbadian Marine company and an entire SeeD Strike Force – an army of less than 200 men and women, trapped in the heart of enemy territory.

3 Galbadian Marine companies and the full complement of starfighters and bombers on the _Wolfguard_ and those few available on their escorts soared into Darmenia City.

He told her of the blood spilt and what had happened when the entire SeeD strike force he led converged on the 3rd squad's crashed Thunderhawk in a desperate bid to save the survivors and claim their dead.

He told her that over 200 people – militia of otherwise – were turned to ashes and bloodied corpses within the space of five minutes.

He told her about the SeeDs' subsequent breakout as marine platoons from the 2nd and 3rd companies stationed across the _Wolfguard_ linked up with them.

He told her of how Irvine and his squad got surrounded and Shateiel went in to get him out. The cowboy was so scared of the Dark Templar that he avoided him like the plague – even after they got back to the carrier.

Over 8 hours of bloody fighting would ensue before the entire Galbadian forces and the SeeDs were fully evacuated from Darmenia with the aid of government troops. 8 hours of deadly urban night-fighting and equally vicious melee battles against an entire city.

It was 3.25 in the afternoon when Squall finally finished telling her everything about the Darmenia mission. Rinoa took in the details, but could not resist asking, "So, let me get this straight. Irvine – the 'bold' and 'daring' Irvine – nearly shot Shateiel? Was he that Dark Templar you fought a week or so back?"

"Yes. It seems that Shateiel had appeared out of nowhere and carved a hole in the wall Irvine was hiding behind before Shateiel realised that it was Irvine and not some militia. Irvine was scared out of his wits; he keeps saying that Shateiel was a devil in human flesh. And, considering the condition Shateiel came back in, I gave some credence to Irvine's words."

"That, and the fact that Irvine kept away from him," Rinoa added.

Squall raised an eyebrow, acknowledging Rinoa's perception.

"So, how is Irvine doing?"

"Granted that he almost had his head sheared off, he's doing fine. He's SeeD, Rin. We're made to last."

"And, no doubt, he'll try to flirt again with Jaheira during the farewell party before the foreign exchange students return to their respective Gardens tomorrow."

"How do you know he'll do that?"

"Squall, this is Irvine we're talking about. Beautiful girls and dashing cowboys – or so he says – go hand-in-hand."

The SeeD Commander placed a hand to his forehead, "I fear for Irvine's life now."

Rinoa grinned, and held her lover tighter, taking in the warm scent of him, "Come on. Quistis and the others are waiting for us in the cafeteria."

_**Archangel Duchy Embassy, Galbadia City, 1830 hrs, 17th August 4051**_

Lord Amaleth Starfire slumped down into his seat heavily, exhausted from the rigours of the day's heavy workload. This was one of those rare times he really hated his post as being ambassador from his country. Not only did he have to deal with the paperwork, now he had to deal with still-angry groups and parliament members over his defiance a month ago. His wife, Aurelia, stood by, looking very amused, her eyes sparkling as she stared at her husband.

His expression was one a long-suffering housewife would have had Amaleth been a woman. If Amaleth could scream, he would have done so a long time ago – dignity and all that be damned!

Just yesterday, Richter Deling of Galbadia had returned from his trip from space, and though many asked him questions on his prolonged journey, the president had waved them away and gotten down to business at hand. He had been pleased with the way the evacuation mission had been carried out in Darmenia but he had some very harsh words for Darmenia's president and his defence minister.

His scathing words held a deep under-current that had the mission gone wrong, Galbadia would have declared war on Darmenia. Richter had gone as far as to threaten to expel Darmenia's ambassadors from every Galbadian holding on and off Terra, a clear sign to Darmenia that any hopes of good relations between the two countries were ashes. The sign of displeasure from the Galbadian Alliance was fiercest from Salvanna of the Midnight Kingdom. The fiery and proud drow woman had almost assaulted the Darmenian representative had Amaleth and several other dignitaries held her back. Her furious curses would have made a sailor blush; Amaleth let her do so.

Salvanna was swearing enough for both of them.

And, to compound his troubles, he was half-mad with worry over Aerie. His actions during the Parliamentary meeting made him realise that his actions had been reckless. He called her every night ever since then to ensure that his little girl was safe.

But for how long, Amaleth did not know.

But, tonight, Amaleth had a visitor who had scheduled an appointment a few days prior to the rescue mission at Darmenia. Amaleth had been tempted to cancel that appointment considering how exhausted he was, but Sarles convinced him otherwise. Sarles had had problems searching for a suitable bodyguard for Aerie, and the private companies were not much help. That left one option open that was not feasible in terms of expenses, yet perfect for the job -- SeeDs. They hated this kind of work, he knew, and would grouse and complain under their breaths of soldiers-turned-babysitters.

"Did Sarles tell you who it was, Amal?" asked Aurelia, sipping a glass of champagne, her wings ruffling from the evening breeze that flew into their personal chambers. It had been a few days now since Aurelia had arrived from the Archangel Duchy, and she had told him of the threatening calls from the pro-Galbadian supporters among others. Aurelia had not been afraid -- considering she had been one of the Wingly Stormtroopers before she married him. Both Amaleth and his wife had been soldiers; their daughter became a peace-loving scholar.

Peace.

That one, simple word was the one thing that seemed so out of reach. Amaleth had fought many battles, and had borne witness to two of Terra's greatest wars. It was during these times that the wingly ambassador regretted for having a long life span.

There had been the Second Dragon Campaign, when a maddened, daemon-possessed hero from a distant era returned to punish a world that he sacrificed so much for. How many thousands have died before Zieg Spiritblade was finally vanquished? How many cities have burned? How many fortresses have been overrun before Ishtar's army and its daemonic troops were finally halted in their tracks?

Then, before that, there had been the Usurpation War. By the Goddess, that war did not shake continents – it shook the entire planet to its foundations. The price paid to stop the war was staggering, the lives lost immense. The 2nd Dragon Campaign did not leave such a scar on Amaleth's psyche – the Usurpation War did.

And throughout both, Amaleth had a deep, uneasy feeling that there had been someone behind it all. There was no conclusive evidence that someone was behind it – but the ambassador had suspicions. It was something, he thought, out of the best-selling thrillers he so loved to read. But, if so, who were they? And what were their intentions?

Wars have always been about religion, ideals, politics or power. It was either one of these four factors, or a combination of them, which started it. Amaleth could guess that whoever these shadow players were, they did it for the sheer sake of the last factor – power. Lives were expendable as a means to an end. There was no shortage of men and women who thought in such a fashion.

Galbadia was one of them. Even after its decimating defeat a year prior, the country continued to assemble its armies. The recruitment drives provided jobs to millions of its citizens on and off Terra – and the generous pay the Galbadian Alliance offered brought many mercenary formations under its banner. No amount of Gil, however, would change the fact that the men and women of Galbadia's Combined Armed Forces that they were the politicians' shields.

No wonder General Caraway and his faction had a considerable dislike of their administrative counterparts who talked for a living.

"Amaleth?"

He snapped out of his thoughts instantly, "Wha-? Yes?"

"I was asking if you knew who Sarles was bringing to see us."

"Not exactly, but I have a feeling we will find out soon enough," and sipped at his own glass of champagne, "But I have a feeling Sarles will burn a hole in my pocket to get the job done."

"You did tell him at any cost."

Amaleth rubbed his temple, '_And, Goddess help me, am I going to regret saying those words! But, considering what lies in the balance, no amount of money will buy back Aerie's life.' . _"Thanks a lot."

They waited, and soon, the gates to Amaleth's home and office opened, and in drove a blue car with the familiar Galbadian military emblem. It stopped beneath the roofed porch, and thus, Amaleth could not see who it was. He frowned. Could this be one of the generals or captains of Galbadia paying him a surprise visit? Or another fool trying to curry favour with him? Or was it the person Sarles had told him about?

Considering these possibilities, Amaleth turned to Aurelia, "We have a guest, it would seem, from the military."

Aurelia snorted, "Another military captain trying to lick your boots?"

Amaleth grinned, "His tongue would not survive the encounter, darling."

At that term of endearment, the ambassador's wife shot him a look that would have put a hole in a Valkyrie frigate. She disliked all those terms of endearment men showered women with when they courted them, believing them to be airy lies and a waste of time and breath. And besides, it was Aurelia who literally pounced on Amaleth, grabbing him before any other wingly woman did.

He hoped Aerie would be that lucky. But, fortunately, she did not possess her mother's temperament and 'he's-mine-don't-touch-him-or-you-die' possessiveness. Aurelia reminded him of a drow matron – though he would never say that in earshot. He'll lose more than just his ears.

A knock on the door signalled the arrival of their guest. Clutching a peaked cap and a file beneath her arm, Major Diana Rinter, CAG of the _Crimson Reaver _flotilla, strode in with Sarles in tow. She fired the Amaleth's retainer a saucy grin – one that told the ambassador that the two were more than just old friends. It was an advantage that Amaleth would use to taunt his friend later on, as the major strode forward. Sarles shook his head and sighed; the familiar sigh that seemingly said '_This is a bad idea, period'._

So, this was the person whom Sarles had insisted Amaleth to see in person. He really had some good connections, if not _interesting _taste.

"Thank you, Sarles, dear. It has been awhile, hasn't it?" she said as she sat down on the chair Amaleth's retainer pulled out, "How are you doing?"

"Fine. Lord Amaleth, Major Diana Rinter."

"I know, Sarles. I've seen her on the news. Welcome to my home, major. Sarles has insisted - rather persistently - that I speak with you."

The major nodded, "I owe Sarles more than just a few favours, ambassador. He has told me about your problems -- I admit that him coming to me after that mission was not much of a surprise."

"I take it he told you of why."

"Yes. You wish to hire competent protectors for your daughter, one that would be able to keep an eye on her and protect her from the shadows."

"Indeed."

She put the file on the table and opened it, revealing several pictures. "These pictures were taken from the _Wolfguard_'s security cameras of the best of the SeeDs, as Sarles had requested."

The faces of Squall Leonhart, Commander of Balamb Garden and the hero of the Sorceress War, Quistis, the Senior instructor of Balamb Garden, Irvine and Selphie, first level SeeDs, one an expert sniper, the other a close-combat artist. The other three held SeeDs that Amaleth did not recognise.

One was a well-built, dark-haired man clad in Usurpation War power-armour, a relic many a museum would have paid the Daemon Princes wanting to own. The other was a female, stern and beautiful half-wingly. The last was an enormous man that would have crushed a marine in a powered-combat suit without breaking a sweat with the double-handed power sword he carried on his back.

"These are?" prompting the major to identify the SeeDs.

Pointing to the first picture a SeeD clad in black power armour bearing the sigils of the ex-communicated Celestial Lions of the Dominion with a shimmering Shadow Robe, "Shateiel Muhammad Spiritblade, ranked captain, age 20. He is part of Garden Falaris's Special Forces of the Death Angels. He is its 2nd in command."

Death Angels? Now where had he heard that name before? It took a while before his memory filtered out the information. Amaleth felt his stomach fall to his boots. The Death Angels of Garden Falaris had a long and bloody history. He had spoken with the Dark Templars during the Usurpation War – and those hardened SeeDs had horror stories to tell about their elite counterparts.

The Death Angels lived up to their grim reputation. There were rumoured to be 15 in all, each superbly trained. If rumours were proven fact, each of these cold-blooded killers were the equivalent of the Sorceress Team that defeated Ultimecia.

To the woman, "Jaheira Alberdina, ranked Colonel, age 178, half-wingly, Garden Falaris Special Forces Death Angels commander and Senior Instructor of Garden Falaris. Original survivor of the 12th Death Angel, along with Khalid, Colonel of the Crimson Lightning."

To the grinning, bald man, "Minsc 'Hawkeye', ranked captain, age 25, Garden Falaris Special Forces Death Angels, heavy-arms and sniper specialist."

"Galbadia could afford to field four of Balamb Garden's best and three of the Death Angels? You must be filthy rich this time of year," and sipped his tea.

"Well..."Diana hesitated, "The Death Angels, I heard, went on the rescue mission for free."

Everyone in the room went silent, and Amaleth nodded to himself, as if confirming a fact he already knew.

"You cannot be serious."

"I am dead serious, Lady Aurelia. Do you see me laughing or smiling?"

"SeeDs are mercenaries, major. They do NOT accept missions for free, period." said Aurelia as she put down the glass of champagne.

"Well...these are the first lot I have seen in ALL my life and my career that did so. But, that aside, I heard from the marines I interviewed that these are as good as Balamb Garden's finest. If you want my advice, I would say that you had best take these. They're unknown and it can be inconspicuous. Your daughter wouldn't know a thing."

"Can we not call in other SeeDs, Amaleth?"

Diana chuckled, causing Aurelia to turn a fierce glare that the major met squarely without flinching. She was a hard woman herself.

"You can, if you want, Aurelia. I have seen these Dark Templars in action and report, and I know all too well of their abilities. Outside of Squall Leonhart and the group he led against Ultimecia, I know of no other organisation that I will hire. They ARE expensive, Lord Amaleth. But, then again," and glanced towards an uncomfortable Sarles, "he did warn you."

Amaleth looked down towards the pictures.

"Sarles?"

The ambassador's retainer looked towards his superior.

"Yes, sir?"

"Put me through to Garden Falaris. Tell their Headmaster that I have a commission for his best. Have him speak to me directly through a scrambled line."

Diana nodded approvingly, despite Aurelia's annoyance, "You've made a wise choice, ambassador."

_**Balamb Lecture Room 2, 17**__**th**__** August 4051, 1843 hrs**_

Quistis Trepe closed the folder and looked past the reinforced, one-way glass that dominated the back of the lecture room. The students had long since left, and Quistis was worn out. The new batch of students had been both eager and interested in their lessons, and the Trepies had been bombarding her with questions. It had been only yesterday since they returned from the mission, and Quistis still felt the left-over-effects of frayed nerves. She looked down at the completed test papers. There would be plenty to mark, and Quistis was in no hurry. Tomorrow morning, the transfer students would return to their respective Gardens, and a party had been held. Selphie had, amazingly, prepared a contingency plan for it.

And knowing that girl's party-animal attitude, she wouldn't be without one. No surprise if she planned all of next year's parties already.

Squall had been in recent dealings with the Dollet Dukedom, for their contract with Dollet had yet to expire, and there had been a secret message from Timber's resistance forces, requesting aid. If they could have the assistance of at least two SeeDs, freeing Timber from Galbadian domination would be so much easier. They were willing to pay, but Rinoa had been adamant that they go to Timber and finish the job. Apparently, even after Vinzer's death, Galbadia did not yield all of its annexed lands.

She chuckled, remembering Squall's look of sheer annoyance as he glared at the paperwork, and quickly left.

Rinoa's words, of all things, came back to her, "I think Squall is better off not being commander, Quisty. Seifer is better at this kind of thing."

And to mention Seifer, of all people!

Her handsome, blond student, whose face and arrogant, emerald eyes had a scar mirroring his arch-rivals. She remembered his insult back in Galbadia some time back, and had her irritation hit boiling point into the fury limit. His sarcastic comments about her still being in love with 'Puberty Boy', as he called Squall, was a waste of time. Rinoa had already taken Squall, the way he had taken Rinoa from him.

"_So, you're here to see if I am a threat to Puberty Boy? I am, but to him only. You are wasting your time, Quisty, obeying him and trying, even now, to win when you cannot. You waste your time in a battle that cannot be won -- and I know firsthand about futility."_

Could Seifer be right? Was trying to win Squall's heart just a waste of time? Rinoa was there, but she did not share much of his life, did not see what turned Squall into the cold person he was, did not experience what he had seen when he first entered SeeD. Did not see him break down. How many times, in her childhood, had she dreamed of being in Rinoa's shoes? If only she had the same courage Rinoa had, to bring Squall out, even if he did not want to, then Squall would be hers.

But, what can she do?

One cannot turn back the clock, no more than one can bring it forward.

The setting sun painted the skies a kaleidoscope of colours, bringing a sweet, heart-piercing melancholy to Quistis's heart. She had wanted to see Squall happy, but she had wanted to make those dreams hers. She had, from young, read all those fairy tales, of the princes marrying their princesses and living happily ever after. She had lived long enough, despite her young age, to know that there was no such thing. Life was unfair, and at best, it could only be impartial.

Was she selfish to harbour such thoughts? Was she foolish to keep such dreams when there were other men besides Squall that she could find happiness with? She had a long life ahead of her. She rose from her desk, and a voice emerged from the shadows, "Quistis."

Wha-?!

Her hand went instinctively to her Save The Queen, her formidable chain whip as her file and papers dropped to the floor. Her blue eyes narrowed in barely-constrained fury which receded when she recognised the figure that stood in the shadows of the classroom, so well-hidden as though she were a part of them. A blue cloak, and the silver of two rings upon her neck, bespoke of her identity.

"Rinoa."

Glaring down at the mess on the floor, Quistis knelt and began to pick them up.

"I'm sorry if I scared you, Quisty."

"It's alright."

"You look lost just now."

_I know. That's why you can creep up on me and I never even sensed you._

Rinoa looked as though she wanted to talk, but about what Quistis did not know. "Are you alright, Rinoa? You look tired still."

"I am, Quisty. Can't sleep well." the sorceress replied. Briefly, Quistis swore she saw Rinoa's coffee-brown eyes blaze an unholy golden of her inherited power.

"Do you want to see Doctor Kadowaki?"

"Squall took me to her several times, but all she gives me is sleeping pills to stave off the dreams."

'_Is this what she wants to talk about? Her nightmares?' _

Quistis had never seen killer stress caused by dreams in action. Now she was seeing it.

"I see."

She smiled, a radiant angel's smile despite her exhaustion, "But, I'm here to tell you to hurry up. The party is about to start."

Quistis smiled as she picked up the folder last, "I'll be there as soon as I can."

The sorceress turned to leave, her movements as graceful as Matron's. It was as though she was floating across the floor. Time to see if Rinoa would agree to a favour.

"Oh, and Rinoa?"

The sorceress turned.

"Can I have the first dance with Squall tonight?"

_**Balamb Student Quarters South Wing, 17**__**th**__** August 4051, 1900 hrs**_

Too much power can be a bad thing – this is one adage that Shateiel knew all too well. The Dark Templar captain stared at his reflection in the mirror. His form was lean and powerfully built, and none of his body was fat. Standing a good several centimetres from six feet, he was almost as tall as Heidern, but not as huge as Minsc – and not as strong. Even the strongest men and women needed two hands, or the assistance of power armour, to wield a Thunder Hammer; the sight of Minsc holding one in one hand was capable of making the bravest feel uneasy.

And Shateiel had seen Minsc in a berserk fury before; it was easily the equivalent of his Black Rage and just as destructive. A Minsc with two Thunder Hammers was not funny. Shateiel had seen firsthand how the giant put an Arclite Siege Tank out of action in one fell shot – and proceeded to clear an entire trench of soldiers.

His attention turned to his eyes – the most obvious indication of the Blood Curse that ran in his veins. Once upon a time, they had been dark and silver, like starlit skies. But, now, it was the blazing amber of funeral pyres and burning cities. He raised his left hand, and willed the _Ienh-Falaris­ _into view. His skin rippled briefly, and the gauntlet appeared. Shateiel studied the beautiful, taloned hand into a fist, feeling the dread power that writhed within the artefact.

The legacy of his mother…the woman who had strode across millenias trying to prevent the resurrection of an enemy that so much was sacrificed to attain victory.

The Black Monster of legend…the murderer that had killed the Silver Children in order to do so.

The lover of a forsaken hero lost to Darkness…for once upon a time, she had loved the man of whose name she bequeathed to her youngest son, to remember him by.

The companion of a man who fought his own father…and who had brought out his powers and tamed it.

Cold as winter yet warm as summer.

But, where the memory of his parents were, he struggled to keep them there. It was a paradise the Dark Templar hoped he could return to. No matter how long it took, or how hard the road, he would return to that paradise.

_I'm not afraid. _

_ Are you? _

_Siren…I swore I unjunctioned you._

_ When you're tired, you tend to forget. Thinking about your parents? _

A brief pause.

_Yes._

_ Ienh-Falaris. The Hand of Falaris – to think that that weapon is one of the most potent weapons of Undoing in Creation. No matter how many times I see it, it still makes my blood run cold _

_I thought you were used to it by now._

_ As if! Every time it comes out, and you frenzy, I am reminded __**WHY**__ exactly it was the inspiration for horror stories on Terra _

Shateiel clenched his fist, the armoured talons closing with a soundless whisper that spoke of countless lives lost and countless souls crushed from the slate of existence. How many souls were denied the peace of the afterlife by the use of this blasphemous weapon is more than enough to make the Dark Templar feel uneasy. The _Ienh-Falaris_ was one of the few items bestowed upon them by his late parents. The Dragoon stone of Fire and the holy blade he bore into battle – Carsomyr – was bequeathed to Zieg; the Dragoon stone of Darkness and the _Ienh-Falaris­ _was granted to him.

The last and final gift, the legacy of their parents, were their wedding bands, a reminder of sworn oaths of love and loyalty. With it came a wager – the only one who found a bride first would have the sole honour of wearing those rings. It was one of those rare times that he had agreed to such an insane wager, making Jaheira laugh uncontrollably for days afterwards.

And Shateiel would put his money on his brother; girls tumbled heads over heels for Zieg Spiritblade, and many have fought for a place in his bed. The elder Spiritblade knew that his younger sibling had an affinity with women and children; even Zieg's ex-lovers had nothing but praise for him. A soft chuckle echoed in the darkening room.

The Dark Templar willed away the gauntlet and turned to dress himself in the ceremonial regalia of Garden Falaris. Although cut in a similar fashion to the combat fatigues worn by Garden Falaris's Dark Templars, this one had beautiful scrollwork in its sleeves and pelerine. The last object he slipped into his belt was a light-sabre. It might offend his hosts, but Shateiel would sooner do that than be caught unprepared. At least, this way, it wouldn't get in the way when he danced. How in the name of the Goddess the nobles of the Royal Houses could do that without tripping, he will never know!

He looked at himself once again, and scowled.

Siren, however, had a different opinion.

_ My, my…you look good, Spiritblade. Really…I regret that I wasn't a normal mortal woman. That way, I could whisk you away from Jaheira and the others _

_Whatever._

_ And no, wearing power armour or your casual wear is not presentable. The least you can do, after their hospitality, is to be courteous _

_I know – and that is why I'm grumbling now so that I won't grumble later!_

Shateiel pulled his black gloves on.

_I hope High Templar Justin has a mission in store for me, right after Balamb Garden snatched a good one under my nose._

Now it was Siren's turn to scowl. Shateiel could see the beautiful Guardian Force's string a furious tune with her harp, and her wings beat furiously.

_ You are incorrigible! Do you want to sign your own death warrant __**that**__ badly? _

_Maybe I…_

And his mental reply was cut off when the door chime sounded, indicating that there was someone there. He hesitated briefly, only to have the door chime ring again. Shateiel put a hand to his forehead; the sound was so damn irritating.

_If it is one of the Garden's girls, I'll turn her to an ice cube and throw her into the ocean!_

"Open!" he shouted in an impatient – and irritated – tone.

What Shateiel saw made his annoyance drop to below zero, and he had to struggle to prevent his jaw from dropping. At the doorway stood Jaheira, all ready for the party. Awesome was an understatement when one gazed upon the blond, half-wingly. Although the shock was not evident on his face, he knew that his widened eyes conveyed it well enough.

Jaheira was clad in a crimson gown with matching gloves that reached her elbows. Instead of a bound ponytail, her long, blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders. Her dress's low-cut neckline revealed her feminine gifts without being too revealing. The seductive mixture of danger and beauty was one Shateiel found intoxicating.

"I see you like my dress," Jaheira said, smiling at her second's reaction.

When he failed to answer, the Siren's musical laughter echoed in his mind, rich with amusement.

_ Ho! So the ice-man does have a heart after all! _

_Shut up, Siren._

_ And a temper. _

"Come. Minsc says he will wait for us in the Ball Room. I hope he hasn't devoured all the food while we were away."

Shateiel nodded, and followed his commander down the hallways where other SeeDs were making their way to the ballroom in small groups. Many sent an awed glance in Jaheira's direction, and the girls positively tittered into jealousy when they saw Jaheira's red dress. No doubt, it was expensive and spoke of good taste. That was surprising, considering Jaheira's tastes often went into the best combat armour or utilitarian uniforms worn by Garden Falaris. She looked like some princess out of the stories his mother used to tell him of, come to lay claim to some errant knight she had found worthy of her affections.

Music hit their ears the moment they reached the banquet hall, and laughter rang through the air. Flowers and glow-globes lit the way to the ball room, and many students could be seen loitering outside, where tables holding bottles of wine, champagne were provided.

"Now, try to enjoy yourself," Jaheira said.

He met her gaze evenly.

"I'll try."


	16. Chapter 14

_**Chapter 14: Party night**_

_**Balamb Ball Room 1, 1930 hrs, August 17th 4051**_

Squall leaned against one of the marble pillars, his eyes looking around the crowded surroundings. A great space had been cleared in the centre of the hall, very much like the time when he had attended the SeeD Graduation Ball, for dancing. Memories came back then, when Rinoa had stood there, alone, and both their eyes were gazing at the same shooting star that streaked across the starlit, night skies. So long ago, yet it felt as though it was yesterday. Already, he was 18 years old, considered to be a fully-grown man in Balamb Garden.

Selphie, he noted, had done a good job again. The banquet was lavishly decorated, and the food and drinks that had been catered had been of a standard suited for ambassadorial welcomes. The Student Transfer Exchange program had gone well, and many of the SeeDs had participated in many of the exercises of their Balamb counterparts, and in turn, learnt much about the other Gardens. He looked about.

Irvine was drinking wine, flirting as he usually did with Selphie. Zell was stuffing himself full of hot-dogs, and his girlfriend, the librarian Azalina Talie, beside him. Rinoa was speaking to Matron and Headmaster Cid was off to one side speaking to the representatives from Garden Zeon and Garden Dominion. The music started, as couples began to move towards the dance floor, and swayed to the gentle rhythm of the song being played.

A brief hush to his left drew the SeeD Commander's attention, and he turned to see Jaheira and Shateiel stride into the ballroom. Shateiel was clad in his Garden's ceremonial regalia but Squall could tell that the Dark Templar was uncomfortable wearing such finery. His eyes were then drawn to the light-sabre that was belted to his waist.

Do Garden Falaris's SeeDs sleep with their weapons was an interesting thought to consider – and one that Squall was tempted to introduce to Balamb. A combat knife on one's person can save one's life in the direst situations.

Jaheira, however, was causing more than one jaw to drop, and Squall could see Irvine starting to stare. His mouth was somewhere in the region of his ankles and his eyes were literal dinner plates. Many of the girls in the ballroom had come to impress, but Jaheira had brought authority with it. She looked like a countess of the Zeon Archduchy.

A voice told him that he, too, had been ensnared by the wingly's appearance.

"I think she managed to succeed in her ploy. Shateiel cannot escape this time."

Squall turned to see Quistis standing beside him. The SeeD Commander fought hard to prevent awe from showing on his face. The blonde haired instructor never needed any makeup – her natural beauty and the healthy shine of her skin and eyes did it for her. The only sign of makeup was her lipstick. Quistis was clad in a dress similar to that of Jaheira's – no doubt at the recommendation of the former. And also, Squall noticed that Quistis was not wearing her glasses, as was her wont when an instructor of Garden.

_ Go ahead, Squall. Dance with her _

_Shiva, I don't need your advice._

_ Are you afraid? _

_No._

_ Then, why not? _

Before Squall could answer, Quistis did not hesitate in pulling an unwilling and hesitating Squall Leonhart onto the dance floor. Her expression was one of sheer determination that denied refusal.

_ I guess there goes the notion of saying no _

_Shiva!!!_

The Guardian Force gave a peal of wintry laughter, enjoying her master's situation.

Squall did not know how to react, and his eyes shot back across time a year ago when he had first laid eyes on Rinoa, when she had pulled him onto the dance floor. Very much like how Quistis was doing it. What had gotten into her?

"Dance with me."

A request, but it sounded so much like a plea.

"Please?"

He did not know how to answer, and he was very tempted to turn down her request and stride back to the pillar, and back to his thoughts. Being commander of Balamb Garden had put much into his mind. He glanced at Rinoa, who met his eyes briefly, and her eyes turned gentle. She mouthed wordlessly, '_Go ahead. She asked.'_

"Just for tonight?"

Squall sighed, and placed his arms around her.

"Just for tonight." and both of them swayed to the rhythm of the music.

Shateiel smiled briefly to himself as he watched the blonde senior instructor drag the very unwilling Commander of the Garden Balamb out onto the dance floor. The look of mingled consternation and helplessness was one that reminded him of his younger brother. From Graduation Balls to victory celebrations, his brother was never short of girls who wanted a chance to dance with him – or bed him. And usually, Zieg would send a pleading look towards him, begging for his assistance.

Most of the time (and that often meant all), Shateiel ignored him and proceeded to snicker. Jaheira had commented that there were a handful of women who could resist the good looks and magnetism of his younger brother – and these she could count on the fingers of her two hands. The way Zieg went through women was very much the way he went through missions. Though where the younger Spiritblade sowed life and fiery hope in his passing, the elder Spiritblade left nothing but death and destruction.

Shateiel turned his eyes on another cheering crowd. There, Minsc was challenging Zell to a hotdog eating competition. They had started half-an-hour ago and were still at it. The crowd around them were making bets on seeing who would hit the floor first. Shateiel knew of Zell's legendary appetite – but he also knew that Minsc's stomach was a black hole. No matter how much he ate, he could still stuff it in. And on long-drawn missions, Minsc was always the last to drop from hunger.

The arms around his body pulled him closer as the once-lively music that filled the ballroom became gentler. The lights dimmed as the couples moved closer into more intimate positions, bathed in the radiance of the stars that shone through the enormous skylight. His body started to tense as his battle-senses came to life, and his eyes started snapping from one end of the ballroom to the next, searching for a hidden enemy.

Many of his missions had been fought under the cover of darkness, in urban settings. It was a nightmare, one that made Shateiel instinctively wary of the darkness. The hold around his body tightened, and Shateiel could make out his commander's blue eyes gazing at him. The gesture was unmistakable. She was telling him to control himself – and that the ballroom held no enemies.

If it did, Siren would sense it long before he did.

Shateiel breathed in deeply, but drew in the lilac and wildflower scent of his superior in his arms. It made him feel uncomfortable. He was used to her presence, yes, but in such an intimate hold, made him feel nervous. The Jaheira he knew was one that was screaming curses even as orbital barrages came slicing down from heaven, shaking a battered fist to the skies in defiance. The Jaheira that held him now was one that was feminine, an aspect he almost never saw save rarely.

But each time, the image was one seared into his memories.

Her smile, in her dress, gave it a warmth and allure that was different that when she was in battle-armour. And the feel of her strong body against his caused embarrassing thoughts to take shape in his mind – never mind that they had been played out in reality many times!

She laughed at him, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

Laughed at him!

_Enjoy moments such as this. Rare are they should they come again. But, that is ONLY when you are an adult! _

His mother's words, her dark eyes laughing as she gazed at her eldest son when he had caught sight of her and father dancing at the summer fair in town during the Summer Festival.

"Shateiel?"

He looked down.

"Have you ever thought about a life beyond this?"

He was startled, even if it did not show on his face. No use lying about this.

"No."

Her face was still buried in his robes, so he could not see her expression.

"Do you enjoy war?"

That was a very hard question to answer, "I don't know."

"I've watched you for so long, Shateiel. I think that you do. I've seen it – and I cannot blame you."

This conversation was leading to an issue he disliked discussing. Disliked – but one he would not avoid when it was brought up.

"You stalk the battlefield like a lioness stalks the savannahs. There is a joy in your eyes when you are in battle – it is as though there is no other place you want to be. Your dark blood is stronger in you than in your brother, and thus, the murderous hunger in you is greater. I fear not so much for you as your brother."

"Zieg is not a weakling."

"The darkness offers so much power, my love," Jaheira whispered, startling Shateiel briefly by the term of endearment at its end, "And it can be so persuasive. You already know how much power your heritage would grant you if you but submit."

"Never, Jaheira. I will not submit. I will not become the monster that my grandfather was."

"From what your father told me, Zieg Spiritblade did not become a monster when he first gazed upon a world he and his compatriots gave their lives trying to protect. The anger festered, became bitterness, became hatred, and finally exploded into vengeance."

"Are you saying that, one day, I'll become like that?"

"It is a possibility. And it is one that we all hope will not come true," Jaheira said.

"Hope is more fragile than glass," Shateiel said, quoting a saying that he had heard a long time ago.

"Unless that hope is made of steel – then and only then, will the hammer not shatter it and not fear the test of fire. And that hope, I have in you."

Shateiel did not know how to respond to that.

And they continued dancing.

Rinoa watched the dance floor quietly, her hands on her lap. The song that flowed through the air was gentle, meant for lovers, and the lights had been dimmed to near total darkness. It was a slow, long-playing alternate song to her mother's "Eyes on Me". She watched couples dance across the floor, but her mind was strained, distracted, even though her face did not show it. She stared at Shateiel and Squall, each dancing across the opposite sides of the dancing floor, feeling that familiar, cold claws of deja vu grip her stomach.

Burning bunkers...

The sounds of battle...

The sight of her dead or dying friends...

Wrecked tanks and mobile suits...

The sight of one man, clad in a black trenchcoat, running horizontally to the ground, holding a great masamune sword pursued by another wearing a fur-lined jacket and wielding a gunblade...

"Rinoa?"

A world burning...

"Rinoa?"

Squall standing atop a building, gazing down upon a nation's destruction...

Squall fighting against Shateiel with a ferocity matched only by the latter's unleashed rage...

Squall standing alone...forever alone and damned for his deeds...unable to forgive himself...

"Rinoa!!" and a hand jerked her violently, as she snapped back into the world of reality.

Matron...

"Are you all right, Rinoa? You looked distant. Is something troubling you?"

She smiled and shook her head, just as one hand touched hers. She turned to see Squall there, eyes concerned, his face still that perfect mask.

"A dance, Squall?"

He nodded.

"I thought Quistis was dancing with you."

"She was. Now it's your turn. Unless you wish me to pull you there."

At that mention, Rinoa's eyes widened and she giggled. Nevertheless, she stood up and followed her Knight onto the floor. As the music began, her eyes gazed upon Squall. "Are you going for another mission, Squall?"

"Yes." he whispered.

"Where to? Dollet? Or Timber?"

"I do not know. Headmaster Cid has yet to say."

Typical Squall. He would never change.

_Why is it do I feel as though the nights that pass are my last nights with him?_

There always seemed to be an air of finality as the dreams became more intense. Something would happen to her, Rinoa knew, that would change Squall. But what? Would she die? Would she become Ultimecia, and lose herself to the raging, dark power that viewed human feelings and compassion as valueless virtues?

"Take care of yourself. Because I want my dream to come true." the last a quiet whisper.

He closed his eyes, whether in affirmation or in contentment of her so close. It did not matter. For now, the now was important.

_...And that dream, Squall, is to see you happy and see you smile. _

**Author's Afterword**

And **FINALLY, **after **1 LONG YEAR**, FF8 Final Judgement, Book 1, Part 1 – the 2nd Edition – is finally…FINALLY DONE! YESSS!!!

Stronger in history and facts, made as real as it can be, and over 100 pages. God-Emperor, I will drive my editor up the Empire State Building and down the other side. And he knows that is another 100-plus pages coming up when I re-vamp Book 1, Part 2.

This story holds a Quistis/Squall pairing, and I had pulled my ideas of a realistic pairing between the two from Tarlia's Second Choice, and the love Rinoa holds for Squall. I, like Tarlia, dislike the fact of authors having Rinoa and Squall confessing eternal love for each other every two paragraghs. Squall shows it in actions, if not words, and Rinoa knows that. She lives with the fact that Quistis still loves him, as it is real that of two women who fight over one man, only one shall prevail.

Also, I know that the lack of Seifer into this story may annoy more than a few Seifer-lovers out there. But, do note, this 100-plus pages only holds **three months **worth of events. Hell has yet to break loose.

But, you can smell it coming.

The new characters mostly will come from Baldur's Gate, and the reasons behind the war, unknown to all save those puppeteers who pull the strings into what will burn the Final Fantasy world. You see, I also concluded that when Ultimecia was defeated, and Squall and his group was cast across time and space, each saw the past, possible pasts, futures and possible futures. But, what Rinoa saw in that time, may well be the defining factor of this story, in that she SAW the future. In such a case, the belief of an alternate timeline comes into play.

I know it is somewhat irritating that the new main character, specifically Shateiel Muhammad Spiritblade of Garden Falaris's Dark Templar Special Forces is extremely powerful and that the description of him is a near Sephiroth match from FF7. Guilty on all charges. But, unlike Sephiroth, Shateiel **CANNOT **control his power, that being his one major weakness of his dark blood. It grants him enhanced strength, stamina and reflexes, but he has a tendency to butcher anyone that stands in his way. It will start to get worse as the story progresses, passing a threshold into becoming his distant, daemon prince ancestor, or to turn back before he accepted damnation.

It is long because of one reason -- I am attempting to pull major events into place, and this story boasts many characters, several of which will die from the ensuing war.

Also, I hold the fact that as I have NOT played Final Fantasy 8, period, I made up another world right up alongside the FF8 world - minus a few things here and there due to my lack of knowledge(ouch!) –and threw in a bloody big conglomeration of the games I played, and those that interested me. I may be way off, and for that, I apologise.

**Next in line: Book 1, Part 1 – Interlude – A moon darkens **

Preview of what is to come:

Garden Falaris's High Templar, Justin Wallace, prepares to choose his successor. Exhausted from years of leading the Garden as its commander, he plans to abdicate his position to the one who proves him or herself worthy of the position.

Also, Ariel, a celestial, having borne witness to the bloodshed in Darmenia, makes a fateful decision.


End file.
